Tainted Love
by Aulizia
Summary: Lucius Malfoy is a cruel, ruthless, powerful man. How did a cunning, powerhungry Narcissa get her claws into him, and then go on to save him from Azkaban? This is a Lucius&Narcissa story, which recounts my version of their life together. INCOMPLETE!
1. Chapter One: Ministers & Memories

**Tainted Love******

**(dedicated to Stephanie & Margaret)**

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Summary: Lucius Malfoy is a cruel, ruthless and powerful man. How did a cunning, power-hungry Narcissa get her claws into him, and then go on to save him from Azkaban? This is a Lucius/Narcissa story, which recounts my version of their life together.

N/B: Written in UK-English. Readers are reminded that this fanfic was written **before** the publication of 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'.

A/N: I've never written a HP fic before (eek) but I am a big fan of the books. Reviews, feedback and constructive criticism are always very much appreciated. Enjoy!

**Tainted Love******

**Chapter One: Ministers & Memories**

The Manor was situated in the heart of the Cotswolds. Its sprawling grounds covered just over a hundred acres of lush English countryside. The house had rich, honey-coloured walls that were built from ancient sandstone and which had stood solid for centuries. Tall windows glinted in the summer sun and allowed light to flood into the interior of the building. Formal gardens skirted the house and led down to a languid river, while a wilder copse encircled the edges of the property. The house and its grounds were picturesque in both style and setting. So it was perhaps a pity that the beauty of the house was at such odds with the nature of its owners.

At one of the grand windows stood a woman. She was tall and slim, and her fair hair was swept back elegantly from her face. Oddly, her hands were clenched tightly at her sides and a vicious scowl rested on her face. She was looking out onto the flowering garden, but she did not seem to see the scene before her eyes. A timid knock sounded on the door to the room, causing the woman's cold grey gaze to flicker away from the window.

"What is it?" Her voice was well trained; she had long ago learnt to heighten its pitch, to clip her consonances and accentuate her vowels.

"There's a man from the Ministry here to see you, ma'am." The maid was new, and trembling visibly.

"Well, show him in then," hissed her mistress.

The young girl turned tail and rushed back out of the room, only to reappear a few moments later, but this time a wizard in ruffled robes was following her. An awful, strained atmosphere filled the room instantly.

"Mr Weasley, to what do I owe the pleasure?" asked the woman, barely able to keep the contempt from her voice.

"Mrs Malfoy," said Arthur Weasley with a forced smile as he tipped his pointy hat. "I wonder, is Lucius at home?"

"No," sniffed Narcissa Malfoy, "he is not, but I'll be sure to tell him that you called when he does get back."

"Ah," said Mr Weasley hesitantly, "well never mind, we'll just have to go ahead without him," he sounded disappointed. Narcissa raised one fine eyebrow suspiciously. "I have a warrant from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office," Mr Weasley continued, as he pulled a roll of parchment from beneath his cloak, "authorising me to search your house for any illegal items."

"Again?" snarled Narcissa acidly. "Really, I would have thought that the Ministry had better things to do with its time." Arthur Weasley went slightly red around the ears, but cleared his throat and recovered admirably.

"Shall we make a start then?"

"Do as you wish," Narcissa sighed carelessly. She settled herself down on a cushioned window seat, which she had previously been standing beside. "I obviously have no power to stop you."

"Very well then," shrugged Mr Weasley. He turned and eagerly left the room to start his search.

Narcissa watched him go and then sat very still. Her hands rested on top of her claret-coloured skirt, while she fiddled absently with her platinum wedding band. She could soon hear Arthur Weasley's footsteps in the room above her; she followed the sound with her eyes, then blinked and forced herself to remain calm. He wouldn't find anything. Not up there at least.

Narcissa let her eyes wander around the room, which among the family was known as the small study. She was trying to occupy her troubled mind, but she bit down on her lip when her piercing gaze immediately fell on the blue fire that was burning in the ornate hearth. It was giving off a pleasantly cool air, to combat the stuffy summer warmth, but something about it obviously unnerved her. She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair and unintentionally pulled a few blonde strands free of their pins before she managed to tug her eyes away from the fireplace.

A large mahogany bookshelf lined one entire wall of the small study. It looked disappointingly ordinary, apart from the fact that the books would occasionally rearrange themselves. Sighing in irritation Narcissa stood up and walked across to the bookshelf. She bent down and picked up a tatty little book that had just been jostled out of place and knocked to the floor by its fellows. As she read the title, "Advanced Curses" by Dr Sesruc, a thin smile transformed her face.

She had been seventeen and half way through her last year at Hogwarts when she'd first made _him_ notice her. Lucius was five years her senior and had never paid her a second's worth of attention while he'd been attending the school, but then he had been in his sixth year when Narcissa started Hogwarts, and what sixteen-year-old would notice a child of eleven?

It was a very old, unoriginal trick that Narcissa had employed. She had been walking back to her Slytherin dormitory with an armful of books when she'd spotted him. She hadn't seen Lucius Malfoy for five whole years, but she knew him instantly. He was unmistakable. He was with his father and another young man who she didn't then know. This young man and Malfoy Senior were talking rather animatedly, while Lucius was lazily scanning the school corridor.

Much later that day, as Narcissa sat alone in the Slytherin common room she would wonder why she'd done it; it was just that she couldn't imagine having _not_ done something. She didn't know what it would lead to, if it would even lead anywhere, she simply knew that men such as Lucius Malfoy were powerful, and she was drawn to that power like a moth to a flame.

The corridor wasn't empty, if it had been then she never would have done it; to do so would have been terribly vulgar. She hadn't quite reached her intended audience when she _accidentally _knocked into a second year rushing the opposite way and let her books tumble to the stone floor. A swift, sharp glare at her ignorant assistant ensured that he didn't try to help her, but it seemed her ploy had failed, for the seconds ticked by and no one else came to her aid either.

Feeling rather foolish and very embarrassed she scooped up her books and hurried along the corridor and around the nearest corner. In her hast she'd taken the wrong turning, and unless she wanted to retrace her journey back passed the Malfoys she would be forced to climb up to the next floor before being able to get back down to the dungeons. Cursing her own stupidity as she went she began to make her way towards the stone staircase when a drawling voice made her stop.

"You dropped this."

Narcissa straightened her back and turned around slowly; Lucius Malfoy was standing in the dim corridor, watching her through narrowed eyes and holding a small, leather-bound book in one hand. Without a word she made her way back to where he was standing, taunting her with the book.

"Well, well. 'Advanced Curses'?" he read off the cover, and a derisive smile was playing on his face as his icy blue eyes travelled back to her face. Her stomach twisted; she knew he knew what she'd been playing at. "Has Hogwarts actually started teaching the Dark Arts?"

"I hardly think you need to ask," replied Narcissa, her humiliation made her strangely bold, for she could hardly make things any worse! He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"And have you anyone in particular in mind?" he asked. He was mocking her now, and she hated to be mocked!

"Yes, actually," she snapped, her lip curling. She took the book from him sharply and turning away. He continued to watch her with mild curiosity as she began to climb the stairs.

"You didn't tell me your name," he called, after a moment's contemplation. She stopped and glanced down at him, an annoyingly smug smile was teasing her mouth.

"You didn't ask for it."

"Well, everything _seems_ to be in order."

Narcissa blinked sharply and span around to find Mr Weasley standing before her. She tried very hard not to glance at the fireplace and alert him to the fact that he'd failed to search the very room they were in, but she soon noticed that he wasn't paying her very much attention, he looked rather cross and very disappointed.

"In that case perhaps you will manage _not_ to visit us for a few _months_ at least?" Narcissa hissed tartly. Mr Weasley cleared his throat and straightened his untidy robes.

"Yes, well-" he muttered. "I'd better be going."

Narcissa nodded coolly, placed the book back on its shelf and quickly ushered Arthur Weasley out of the small study and then down the main hallway to the front door.

Evening was just beginning to draw in as Narcissa pushed open the huge oak door. Mr Weasley stepped outside, tipped his hat once again, pulled out his wand and then Disapparated without another word.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, and then she too stepped outside onto the gravely terrace in front of the Manor. She didn't stop, but kept on walking. Her long skirt rustled around her while the gravel crunched beneath her feet. She passed through a gap in the ornamental stonewall, which separated the terrace from a huge length of lawn that gently sloped all the way down to the river.

It took a good ten minutes to walk all the way down to the edge of the river, but only when she reached its banks did Narcissa stop. She stared down into the flowing water, and saw the blue, cloudless evening sky reflected there.

"There is a storm brewing," she muttered pensively.

It had been bothering her for several days now. She was no Seer, but something was coming. Something big. But just how big? She couldn't be sure…

A man shrouded in black stood on the terrace in front of the Manor. He was silently watching the distant feminine figure, outlined in red, which was down by the waterside. His frosty gaze shifted to a wooden footbridge that was just a few feet from his wife's side. It had been a present from his father to his mother, given to her the year before her death. Lucius hated it. It led to open fields and meadows, to the world outside, and symbolised the path that his treacherous mother had bolted down.

She had been no match for her husband, or indeed her son. She had been a puppet of the Malfoy family for most of her life. Too timid, too foolish to be anything else. When she had endured all that she could bear she had tried to escape. But Lucius' father had found her, not because he loved her, not because he wanted her, but because in his eyes she belonged to him. He had dragged her back, kicking and screaming, literally, and built the bridge as a constant reminder. He could never forgive and won't let any of them forget.

Lucius had been in his final year at Hogwarts for the last year of his mother's life. He sometimes wondered whether he would have helped her had been at home? As a young man of eighteen he could already equal his father's power and cunning. Would he then have protected his mother? He honestly didn't know. Betrayal such as hers was just too great a crime, and so the bridge still stood, a niggling thorn in his side. Lucius would have dearly liked to have had it torn down years ago, but Narcissa loved to sit by the river, and cross it to walk in the meadows beyond…and besides, he reasoned as his mouth formed a thin conceited smile, he knew that she couldn't bolt.

-


	2. Chapter Two: Miss Varvara

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love

Chapter Two: Miss Varvara 

The heavy oak door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, and Lucius Malfoy stepped inside his house.  He took off his cloak and handed it to a brass coat-stand, which moved accommodatingly to take it from him.  He was also carrying a black cane, but this he kept with him as he made his way promptly to his library.  The door to this room also appeared to open without human intervention.

Lucius strolled in and took a seat in a smart, leather chair, which was placed behind a desk that was piled high with papers.  He drew his ebony wand from his cane, like a sword from its sheath, and proceeded to point it in the direction of the liberally placed candles, thus illuminating the moderately sized room. A vaguely puzzled frown rested on his striking face as his wintry blue eyes scanned the lit room quickly, but this look soon turned from confusion to anger. 

_Someone_ had been rummaging around his private library!

He flung back his chair, got to his feet and stormed back out into the passage.  As it happened there was someone already in the corridor. 

"Ah, Draco," drawled Lucius, as he reigned in his temper.  His eyes moved from his son to the two bulky boys who were loitering behind him.  "Tell me, have you been in my library today?"

"No, father," replied Draco quickly; he could sense the fury beneath his father's cool façade.   "We haven't been in the house all day."  The other two boys, known simply as Crabbe and Goyle, nodded dimly.

"Hmm," mused Lucius cynically.  "Where's your mother?  She's not _still_ down by that accursed river is she?"

"No, _she's_ not," countered a new voice calmly.  "Is something wrong, Lucius?"  Narcissa had entered the house silently, and for few moments she had observed the scene unnoticed.  Her husband turned to her, his jaw clenched.

"I don't suppose you know who's been in there?" he demanded harshly, indicating to his private chamber.

"Yes."

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius snarled.  Draco looked nervously from one of his parents to the other.

"Draco, did you want something?" asked Narcissa shrewdly, she spoke to her son but didn't take her eyes off her husband. 

"Ye- no.  No," replied Draco, wisely taking this opportunity to slink away with his friends.

"I had a visit today-" Narcissa began, once the immense figures of Crabbe and Goyle had disappeared out of view. 

"I have very little interest in your social calendar," growled Lucius, and after this savage interruption he thundered back into the library.

"-from Arthur Weasley!" shot Narcissa angrily as she followed him into the room without invitation.

"What?" Lucius roared, spinning around so sharply that Narcissa found she was pinned between her husband and the closed library door.

"_Don't_ yell at me!" argued Narcissa furiously.  "He didn't find anything, luckily!  Besides, if you didn't provoke him at every opportunity-" she suddenly trailed off, running out of steam, because for some bizarre reason Lucius had moved back, released her from his snare and looked amused.  "What is it?" Narcissa questioned, faltering slightly.

"He found nothing you say?"  She nodded mutely.  "Good," he mused with satisfaction.  "Though it is a pity I wasn't here to witness his failure."

"Indeed," Narcissa replied dryly.  "Still, you're not going to let him get away with this are you, Lucius?"

"Oh I shouldn't think so," he reflected deviously.  Narcissa nodded and smiled contentedly, she turned to leave, but then hesitated uncertainly.  Lucius noticed this uncharacteristic action.  "What's wrong, Narcissa?" he demanded.

"Wrong?" she repeated uneasily as she reached for the door handle.

"Why _were_ you down by the river?" he pressed astutely.

"No reason.  It's nothing really, just a feeling that's all," she muttered quickly.

"Meaning?" Lucius asked.

"Something is coming.  Some change."

"What kind of change?"

"I cannot tell, it's too far off," she murmured slipping out of the library.  

Lucius stared at the door for a moment; then he sat down and let one elbow rest on the table while he leant his chin on his clenched hand.  Narcissa was very much like a cat that could sense a coming storm.  Only the storms she sensed were sadly not meteorological.  Her intuition had saved his life once, and so Lucius was extremely reluctant to ignore her inklings.  

It had taken him years to learn all that there was to know about his wife, and he still wasn't sure that he knew everything.  He shook his head in remembrance, the very first thing that he'd been forced to uncover had been her name, but that wasn't _exactly_ true; it hadn't been something he'd actively tried to discover…

Lucius had been in his early twenties, and just starting to climb the ladder at the Ministry of Magic.  He had been working for Augustus Rookwood, in the Department of Mysteries, when he'd first discovered the identity of his future wife.   

It had been the middle of April when Barty Crouch had burst into the Department of Mysteries office looking for Rookwood; Lucius remembered the month because the whole Ministry had been in chaos for weeks, trying to sort out an unusually large number of anti-Muggle April Fools pranks.  

"Well Malfoy, where is he?" Crouch snapped impatiently.  Lucius slowly put the finishing touches to a report that he was writing before looking up from his desk.

"Who, Mr Crouch?" he asked lazily.

"Who do you think?  Rookwood of course!"

"I've no idea, sir.  He hasn't been in all day."

"What?!  What kind of Department is he running here?!" Crouch exclaimed furiously.  Lucius simply cocked one uninterested eyebrow.  "Well I'll have to go and find him myself," muttered Crouch angrily.  "You, Malfoy, I need this delivered immediately," he continued as he produced a large package from thin air and plopped it on the desk in front of Lucius, who looked at it disgust.

"What do you want _me_ to do with it?" he asked scornfully.

"Take it to Hogsmeade and deliver it to my son, _in person_."

Lucius was still recalling this heated conversation some time later as he sat in the Three Broomsticks waiting for Crouch's odious little son to appear, wondering if he could possibly have gotten away with hexing Crouch at any point during the exchange.  Probably not, but it was a pleasant enough way to while away the time nonetheless.

It was fairly quiet in the homely little pub; it was still early and the Hogwarts students hadn't yet arrived.  Lucius' thoughts turned away from Crouch when his eyes came to rest on a league table that was pinned on the wall behind the bar and written in the Hogwarts colours.  At the top, in neat script, was written 'The Hogwarts Decaduel'.  Lucius stood up and moved closer to get a better look.  The Decaduel took place every ten years and was only open to pupils in their final year at Hogwarts.  He had forgotten that it was due to be played.   Most of the little boxes were already filled in with pupils' names, from the preliminary rounds right up to the semi-finals.  One pupil from each House was represented in the last four.  He noticed that the name 'Miss Varvara' had been written in green inside the Slytherin box.  Seeing where his attention laid, the pretty barmaid, who looked too young to be behind the bar, bustled over to him.

"Exciting isn't it?" she beamed.  Lucius blinked frostily, but she seemed not to notice.  "It's the first time we've ever had two girls in the semis!" she gushed.  "I'd love for the Ravenclaw lass to win, but they say the Slytherin girl, Narcissa, stands a better chance."  

"Really," remarked Lucius dryly.  The barmaid nodded, unperturbed by his indifference.  

"I doubt either of them will be able to beat Longbottom, the Gryffindor champion, but I suppose you never know," she sighed, while absently cleaning a tankard.

Lucius murmured uncommunicatively, and a moment later the doors of the Three Broomsticks opened and a whole horde of noisy Hogwarts students entered the pub.  The barmaid let go of the tankard, but the cloth she'd been using to wipe it didn't stop cleaning.  A young boy with straw-coloured hair and freckles walked straight up to the bar.

"Is my father here?" he asked.

"I haven't seen him, Barty," replied the barmaid kindly.  Lucius' ears pricked, and he moved forward.

"You're Barty Crouch's son?" he drawled.  The boy nodded nervously.  "Then this must be yours."  Lucius drew out his wand, gave it a sharp flick and produced the package Mr Crouch had given to him.

"Where's my father?"

Lucius shrugged his shoulders dispassionately.

"He obviously had something better to do with his time," he replied cruelly.  The young Barty looked as though he was going to make some reply to this slur, but the doors of the Three Broomsticks opened again and drew his attention away.  Lucius followed his gaze idly.  A group of laughing girls wandered in, and to Lucius' surprise he recognised one of the party. 

It had been about three months since their brief exchange, but he could still remember the nameless blonde who was dressed in Slytherin robes.  Frowning he pulled his gaze away before she saw him, and turned to Crouch's son so that he might excuse himself.  But young Barty was also staring at the pretty blonde.

"Hi, Narcissa," he gushed as she neared the bar.  Lucius narrowed his eyes pensively, he watched, as the girl's own gaze finally focused on Barty.  A look of fleeting dismay crossed her face when she saw who'd called her name, giggles and nudges from her friends seemed to surround her.

"Hello, Barty" she sighed, while forcing a smile, and then for the first time since entering the Three Broomsticks she saw Lucius Malfoy.  He was looking between her and the Decaduel league table.

"Miss Varvara, I take it?" he asked smoothly.

"Hello again, Mr Malfoy," she breathed coyly, noticing as she did so that her friends' teasing laughter had been replaced by jealous glares.  "Barty, I didn't think first years were allowed to visit Hogsmeade?" she suddenly said frowning.  The young boy blushed and muttered something about his father before taking his parcel and slinking away to a corner of the pub.

"So you've made it to the Decaduel semi-finals," remarked Lucius slowly.  Narcissa nodded cautiously.

"You should come and watch," she then added carefully.

"Perhaps," he replied casually.  "Make it to the finals and I might consider it."

"Lucius?"  Narcissa popped her head around the library door.  "Are you joining us for dinner or not?" she asked impatiently.  "I asked the maid to fetch you, but you know how reliable she is!"

"Mmm," Lucius murmured, but his manner was slightly distracted, he was also reluctant to enter into any conversation that might lead back to the loss of Dobby.  "Tell me, do you remember young Barty Crouch?"

"Yes," replied Narcissa slowly, "of course."  She stepped inside the room.  "Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason.  I just remembered something that's all," he replied vaguely.  "Your families were fairly close.  Do you know why his father met him in Hogsmeade so often?"

"It wasn't often, as far as I knew.  His mother contrived the whole thing, apparently she didn't think that they spent enough time together," she paused and frowned.  "It didn't help him very much in the end though, did it?"

Lucius snorted and stood up.  He didn't care anything for the Crouch family, although Narcissa had taken him into her confidence and explained her relationship with the younger Barty Crouch years ago.

"He was in love with you, you know," he remarked matter-of-factly.  "You're lucky I don't get jealous, your obvious regret at his death would anger most men."

"Lucius, I find the notion of you being jealous of a dead teenager laughable," drawled Narcissa scathingly.  Lucius raised one shrewd eyebrow and walked vehemently towards his wife.  He clamped one hand on her waist and pushed her back roughly against the door.

"And when has it ever been wise to laugh at me?" he breathed, his light eyes darkened.

Narcissa's own gaze flickered down to his mouth expectantly, her lips parted fractionally of their own accord just before his mouth claimed hers.  It wasn't really a kiss; it was too heartless, too ruthless.  She could feel her lips bruising under his even as the blood hummed through her veins making her dizzy.  She couldn't fight what he made her feel.  A guttural moan lodged itself in her throat just as he pulled back, a wicked smile rested on his face.  He'd won.

"Shall we go to dinner then, dear?" he asked evenly.

-


	3. Chapter Three: Home Life

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love 

Chapter Three: Home Life****

The short journey from Lucius' library to the dining room was fraught with tension.  Narcissa walked a few tenacious steps ahead of her husband and silently began to plot her revenge, but how to take it?  Men were so simple, so very controllable.  When she had been a girl, adapting to a changing body, she had quickly discovered the power that she had over the opposite sex, and since then she had perfected the art of manipulation through insinuation.  It amused her.  A sultry smile, an evocative pose; that was all it took to make them jump through hoops for her.  But such basic revenge would not inflict nearly enough pain on Lucius.  She _was_ his; he _could_ take what he wanted from her whenever he wished.  By noosing her finger with his ring she had laid down this particular feminine ace.  It didn't matter; she had learnt others.

Lucius followed his wife with a self-satisfied smirk, but as he watched the seductive sway of her hips he knew as well as she that his method of punishment was in fact a double-edged sword.  He brushed these thoughts aside with the cold ruthlessness of a dispassionate heart and stepped into the dining room after Narcissa, but did not see quite what he had been expecting.

"Well, where are they?" he asked reluctantly, as he took his seat at the head of the table.  Draco was sitting all alone in the room, drumming his fingers impatiently on the white tablecloth.

"If you mean Crabbe and Goyle, father," began Draco sullenly, "mother sent them home."  Lucius glanced at Narcissa, who was opening a napkin delicately.  She clapped her hands together lightly and a spread of salmon salad, which was laid out in silver dishes, instantly filled the table.

"Find friends who possess the simple ability to eat like civilised human beings and I will gladly welcome them to dinner, Draco," she finally retorted airily.  

"Excellent," remarked Lucius dryly, holding back a smile at his wife's candour.  "I wanted to speak with you privately anyway."  Narcissa watched as her son's shoulders slumped resentfully.

"About what, father?" he asked unenthusiastically, as he helped himself distractedly to some of the salad.

"I should think that even you could guess," Lucius replied coolly.  "I dare say you were extremely pleased when the Hogwarts end of year exams were cancelled!"  He paused broodingly.  "I am seriously considering hiring a tutor to instruct you this summer."

"Father!" whined Draco.  "It's not my fault-"

"And I am tiring of your feeble excuses," warned Lucius cuttingly.

"Well father," said Draco, quickly rethinking his strategy, "if I try harder and work over the summer will you buy me a Firebolt when the model's released for general sale?"

"Draco, this is nonnegotiable!" interjected Narcissa sharply.  "You do not get rewarded for merely doing what your father and I expected of you!"  

Draco glared down at his plate.

"Moreover I seem to recall purchasing you _and_ your entire Quidditch team brand new racing brooms last year."

"For all the good _that_ did," muttered Narcissa through gritted teeth.

"But father, the Firebolt is an international standard broom!"

"And when you play Quidditch at international standard you may have one," said Lucius callously.

Following dinner, which after Lucius' scathing attack on his son had consisted of Draco spearing his food violently with his fork and scowling a lot, Narcissa found that she had taken refuge in the small study to continue with her scheming.  But some of the things that Lucius had said that evening began to play on her mind, and hampered her progress.  

She hadn't thought about Barty Crouch in years.  He had been an unnerving sort of person to be around.   There was evil - cold, logical and ruthless, the kind that she had been drawn to in Lucius, the kind that she harboured in her own dark soul, but then there was also passionate, fanatical, irrational evil.  That was what she had seen in Barty, it hadn't frightened her exactly, but it had been Barty whom her father had intended her to marry and Narcissa had never had any intention of marrying Mr Crouch's unmanageable son!

"All I ever wanted was a son!" Mr Varvara spat at his seventeen-year-old daughter.  

Narcissa barely even flinched.  She had heard it a thousand times before, and anyway she had stopped listening to her father's latest tirade.  They were standing in an empty Hogwarts classroom.  He was absolutely furious that she had reached the final of the Decaduel!  For months he had been sending her threatening letters by owl, outlining exactly what he would do to her if she dared sully the family name by continuing to compete in such a common competition.  Narcissa had ignored every warning.  She couldn't withdraw; the instinct to win was just too strong.  

Her father may have been robbed of a son and heir, but he would beat Narcissa into a proper lady if it killed him!  However, she had very different, unspoken, ideas on the matter.  She could play the role of a lady when it was called for; the wealth, the lifestyle, the power appealed to her greatly, but what was the point of it all, if you were too prim and proper to wield those luxuries?

"Why I was cursed with _you_ I'll never know," Mr Varvara continued, his voice dripped with loathing.  

Narcissa let her eyes glaze over as she imagined the day when the balance of power between them shifted.  One day it would, until then she would just have to bide her time.  Besides, her father's hatred had its own advantages – her mother would walk over hot coals for her.  All Narcissa had to do was go to her mother with bruises and crocodile tears and she'd turn night into day if her daughter asked her to…the bruises didn't even have to be real.

"I dread to think what Crouch will think!  I can't imagine that _any_ man would want such an unruly, disobedient daughter-in-law!"

"Lucky then, that I shan't be marrying Mr Crouch's son," simpered Narcissa.  

Her response was like a red rag to a bull.  She didn't remember him moving to hit her; all she could recall afterwards was the eruption of pain.  She thought the side of her face might explode, but even so, a superior smile lifted one corner of her mouth.  His reaction, his loss of control, strengthened her resolve.  One day she would destroy him.

"I thought I'd find you in here."

Narcissa checked her composure before turning from the window.  Night had fallen outside the Manor, cool and calming, and lit by a medley of stars.  Lucius stood in the study's doorway, the fire still burned blue from that afternoon; it was the only light in the cold room.  He watched as it danced in shadows across his wife's profile.  She stood with her hands clasped, her face solemn, she looked like a figure cut from alabaster that watches over a tomb. 

"What do you want?" she asked her husband, and her tone was colder than the fire.

"You're still angry," he stated in resignation.

"You should know better than most that I'm quite good at holding grudges."

"I am so _very_ worried," quipped Lucius sardonically.

"Perhaps you should be," hissed Narcissa as she neared him, "you never know, keep this up and I might not be around to help the next time you need saving."  He caught her wrist sharply as she moved towards the door.  She smiled pitilessly; there, that was her lance through his pride.  "Tsk tsk," she breathed steadily, "you should really learn to control that temper."

"Enough," he commanded emphatically.

"A truce?  How unlike you, Lucius."

"You are the one who always has to win, who never knows when to retreat," he snarled accusingly.

She had entered the arena with her head held high; the bruises left by her father were completely covered by Mz Hsimelb's Majik Concealor.  The Quidditch stadium was doubling for the Decaduel field.  A long raised platform had been erected in the middle of the pitch.  It stood some fifty feet high, but there were a few safety measures employed if one of the combatants should fall, or be pushed, over the edge.

Red and green, silver and gold; those were the only colours flying that day.  The Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin serpent seemed to glower at each other from opposite ends of the pitch.  Dumbledore had decided that, as a show of good will between the combatants and their supporters, each finalist would reach the raised platform by walking through their opponent's supporters.  Narcissa privately believed that this notion was pure lunacy, but she also knew that the Slytherin crowd would give Longbottom a harder time than the Gryffindors would give her, so it _might_ just work to her advantage.

Steadily she began to climb up one of the high Quidditch towers, which was draped in red.  At the top she knew that she would find a shimmering gold bridge that would lead her across to the main platform where the Decaduel final was to take place.  Heckles, catcalls and wolf whistles followed her as she went, and then a shout, which was so distinctive that she looked around to seek out the caller.

"Watch it Cissy!  Longbottom's going to wipe that smug grin clean off that pretty face of yours!"

"The only reason you're so cocking is because you're safely tucked away up here in the stands, Black," she sneered venomously.

"Is that right?!" yelled the teenager, as he leapt to his feet.  "If I was a year older I'd-"

"Leave it Sirius, she's not worth it," said another boy of about sixteen, he had messy black hair and glasses, and was holding his friend back.

Narcissa turned from the duo arrogantly and stepped out onto the golden arch.  That was when she saw him, and a millisecond later, her.  Lucius was in the teachers' box, and by his side sat a stunningly beautiful witch.  Narcissa pulled her gaze away from the woman with locks the colour of the midnight sky and swallowed a smile; victory would taste so much sweeter if she had to win him from a worthy opponent.  She finished her walk to the centre of the platform with a new, steely determination; Narcissa had always relished a challenge.

Frank Longbottom and a tiny little man known as Professor Flitwick, who was the new charms teacher at Hogwarts, were already on the platform in their places, waiting for the Slytherin combatant to join them.  When she reached the pair Narcissa suddenly realised that she had become so preoccupied with the other battles in her life that she had pushed the real reason why they were all gathered together, the Decaduel final, to the very back of her mind.  But as she looked at the confident Gryffindor champion her thoughts immediately focused, and her mind became as sharp and deadly as a razor blade.  On that day she was sugar coated poison.

"Now than," squeaked the Professor, before the slightly more ceremonial opening began.  "Remember, we all want a nice, clean duel.  You're not aiming to maim or ugh kill," he laughed nervously.

"No?" breathed Narcissa, and her eyes flickered briefly between Longbottom's resolute appearance and self-satisfied smile set on the face of the raven-haired witch.

"What is wrong with you today?!"

Narcissa blinked at Lucius, he was frowning at her in complete and utter bewilderment.  She held back a smile, so he didn't think that she knew when to admit defeat?  Well, that was easily countered; she never backed down because she always won, in the end, one way or another.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly.  

She stepped towards him and eased herself submissively into his arms.  When the shock of her yielding to him so completely had passed Lucius held his wife in an uncharacteristically gentle embrace, and so, he couldn't see the sly smile that played on her face as she nestled herself snugly against his chest. 

-


	4. Chapter Four: Darkness & Duels

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love 

Chapter Four:  Darkness & Duels****

The crescent moon sat high in the inky sky.  She was the night's faceless grin, doomed to forever reflect the light of her nemesis onto the world below.  Beneath her cheerless white light, in the acreage that surrounded the Malfoys' Manor, the creatures of her nighttime reign were stirring.

The surreal calm of those hours of darkness was fractured, but never broken, by the occasional snuffle of a badger, the hoot of an owl or the last desperate cry of a shrew.  But then, as midnight drew nearer and one day sorrowfully prepared to give way to the next, the sinister cackle of a hobgoblin shattered the illusionary façade of peace.

Within the house all was still…almost.  Lucius was moving around in the moonlit master bedroom.  Occasionally he would glance down at his sleeping wife as he quietly slipped back into his clothes.  His body felt pleasantly tired and wholly satisfied, but his mind was not quite ready to be tempted by sleep.  

Narcissa stirred, but did not wake.  Lucius stepped towards the bed where she lay entwined with the sheets.  He moved instinctively to pull the blankets up over her naked shoulder, but then he stopped, his hand only a hairs breadth from her body.  For a timeless moment he stayed like that, reaching out but never touching her, until something inside him hardened, and he withdrew himself completely.  

Lucius turned away and promptly retrieved his wand from where he had let it fall earlier.  He stepped out of the bedroom, into the black corridor beyond, and left his sleeping wife with her dreams.

"_Lumos_," he muttered quietly. 

 At the tip of his wand shone a soft, silvery light, which illuminated a small section of the corridor with its eerie glow.  A visitor to the Manor may have noted that not one ancestral portrait hung in that, or any, corridor.  Life was hard when you couldn't even trust your own forefathers.  Lucius made his way mechanically through the maze of passageways until he once again reached the small study.  Inside the little room the blue fire was still burning; in their impulsive rapture they had forgotten to extinguish it earlier.  The maid knew better than to enter _this_ room alone.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he said idly.  The icy blaze vanished in a puff of white smoke.  Lucius strolled over to the fireplace and laid a hand on the chiselled stonework.  For a mere second he drummed his fingers hesitantly, but then he spoke again.  "_Alere Flammas_."  His tone was clear, commanding…and the hearth obeyed him.

It swung open, as if it were two separate pieces of one puzzle, which fitted together more than perfectly.  It worked like a set of double doors, but was surrounded by a chilling air of foreboding.  The top of a stone stairway could be seen from the room.  Lucius stepped into the heart of the fireplace and walked down into the bowels of the house.  The opening to the hidden chamber silently fell shut behind him.

His footsteps echoed around the dark labyrinth as he descended.  It was musty beneath the house, and somewhere in the gloomy confines of the chamber water could be heard dripping persistently.  Other noises, which were much less innocent, also resounded around the cavernous basement; the gentle bubble of simmering cauldrons, the scuffle of pacing, padded, caged feet, and the sniffling, broken little sobs of a Brownie, who was shackled to a wall somewhere in the dark.  

When Lucius finally reached the bottom of the stone steps something else was also waiting.  A familiar ghostly apparition was there to greet him.  She _had_ been a little mute girl.  In appearance she was no more than three, yet whole centuries had elapsed since the time of her grisly death.  Silent.  Nameless.  Forever waiting.  In life it was still apparent that she had possessed the white-blonde hair that was such a typical trait of the Malfoy family.

Lucius had long ago reached the conclusion that she didn't know she was dead, for what three-year-old really knew what death was?  It had taken him a little while, but he had also worked out what it was that she was waiting for – her own parents.  Waiting in vain to be reclaimed by whichever Malfoy had entombed her alive, because of her deformity.__

Lucius walked by her, she followed him for a little while, but as he journeyed deeper into the hidden vault she hung back and returned to her silent, eternal vigil.  Torches hovered near the rough stonewall, they burst to life as Lucius passed them, casting flickering shadows on jars and bottles that were stacked on countless shelves, and on the wooden benches, which were littered with papers and strange little artefacts.  Lucius stopped when he reached a chimneyless fireplace and sat down in a green leather armchair that had been placed by the unlit grate.

So Arthur Weasley was searching for this very lair!  

Lucius' volatile temper darkened, he snapped his fingers sharply and a small glass of amber liquid appeared.  He drank it all in one violent swig.  The Weasleys disgusted him!  He curled his lip, and clenched his fist so hard that the glass he was holding shattered.  The broken splinters bit into the soft flesh of his palm, yet Lucius didn't even flinch.  He let the bloody shards fall to the floor as he turned his eyes to the fire that had erupted in the crude hearth.  

Firelight burned red in his soulless eyes, one day the Weasleys would be made to pay for their Muggle-loving ways!  Until then Lucius would just content himself with toying with them whenever the opportunity arose.  

Meanwhile, in the dreamy depths of slumber Narcissa's mind continued its indulgent train of remembrance…it was cold, she recalled, surprisingly cold up there above the Quidditch pitch, and the spring wind had made a nuisance of itself, tugging at their robes and tossing their hair into their eyes.  Professor Flitwick had stood between the two Hogwarts combatants while everyone waited expectantly for Dumbledore to speak.

"I know I needn't remind anyone why we are here," began the Headmaster, his voice magically amplified so that it filled the entire stadium.  "The Decaduel final is upon us, and I am sure we all agree that Miss Narcissa Varvara and Mr Frank Longbottom are both winners on this momentous day."  Spirited cheers filled the arena and a smiling Dumbledore had to wait for them to subside before continuing.  "All that remains is for me to wish both of you the very best of luck, and to hand over to our referee, Professor Flitwick."

"Right then," squeaked the Professor excitedly, "let us begin!" 

Narcissa drew her wand.  Rosewood and dragon heartstrings, fused together they made a truly formidable combination.  Longbottom saluted smartly, Narcissa followed his example, although the glint in her eyes was at odds with this overt display of respect.  They turned around, walked five set paces and then span back to face each other, wands at the ready. 

"On the count of three you may start," said Flitwick merrily.  

"…one…"  The audience faded away from Narcissa's consciousness.  Her father.  Lucius Malfoy.  The black-haired witch…

"…two…"  The wind had died, the cold had gone; all she could feel was her heart beating in her chest. 

"…three…"  There was no more time, no more thoughts; there was only the power of the magic coursing through her veins.

"_Expelliarmus_!!!"  They both shouted the spell at exactly the same moment.  The two powerful blasts of magic ricocheted off each other and erupted in a shower of red and green stars, to the appreciation of the crowd.

"_Impedimenta_!" yelled Frank.

"_Non Dolet_."  Narcissa countered through clenched teeth.  The paralysis caused by his attack gradually subsided as a hazy blue light surrounded and soothed her.  Frank frowned, but didn't hesitant for long.

"_Nixium_!" he yelled.  Brilliant icicles shot from his wand like bullets, they flew towards Narcissa, but she was ready for this attack.

"_Incendium_!" she hissed, instantly a line of blazing red flames filled the raised podium, melting the icicles as they flew, but not quite well enough; one missile found its mark, slicing Narcissa's cheek as she tried to dodge it.  Her fingers tightened around her wand.  She could feel the warm trickle of blood running down her face.  Her lip curled and her eyes darkened.  "_Fulmentium_!!!" she shouted furiously, a bolt of white lightning shot from the end of her wand, straight at Longbottom.  It was too fast for him to rebuff and hit him square in the chest.  The force of the strike threw him up in the air and hurled him back down onto the raised platform with a sickening thud.__

"Stop!  Stop!"  Professor Flitwick rushed between Narcissa who was breathing heavily and Longbottom who was writhing on the floor in agony.  "I'm giving you your first warning, Miss Varvara!  For use of excessive force!" shouted Flitwick heatedly as two first aiders rushed over to treat Longbottom.  "Break the rules again and I will disqualify you!  Is that clear?"

"Crystal," simpered Narcissa with false remorse.  Flitwick nodded with some satisfaction and then turned to see if Longbottom was fit to continue.  

Narcissa composed herself, she relaxed her grip on her wand and raised her other hand to her slashed cheek.  Her fingers were sticky and red when she pulled them away.  She stared at them, almost fixated, and could not hear the roars of disgust from Longbottom's supporters, nor even the jubilant cries of her own Slytherins.

"_Feels good, doesn't it_?" breathed a voice inside her head.  She gasped sharply, but no one noticed.  "_The knowledge that you are stronger than him, cleverer than him, better than him_," it hissed persuasively.  "_I can sense the hunger in you.  Remember my dear,_ _there is only power and those too weak to seek it.  You are not weak_."

"Ready?" Flitwick asked.  

Narcissa nodded, the voice was gone, but its message remained, or rather _His_ message, because she knew instinctively who it had been.  So He had noticed her, hadn't He?

"Then…resume!"

"_Gladius Mutare_!" cried Longbottom; pure determination was etched across his slightly singed face.  

Narcissa wavered when she heard what spell he had cast.  A ring of ruby light surrounded his wand and wove a cocoon-like mist around it.  What was left behind once the light faded was not a wand, but a sword hewn from glimmering gold.  Frank, who everyone in the school teased for his strange fascination with the Muggle sport of fencing, waited.  Narcissa groaned inwardly, she was no swordswoman!  She could easily blast him off his feet; his sword was no match for her wand, but it wouldn't _look_ right.  In the eyes of the spectators it wouldn't be _fair_, Narcissa gave an inward shudder at the mere thought of the word.

"_Gladius Mutare_," she sighed, stubbornly refusing to be shown up by a mere Gryffindor!  Her wand glowed fierce emerald, and transformed itself into a light, silver rapier.

"You can't beat me with that!" laughed Frank gleefully.  "But that obstinate pride of yours won't let you quit!"  He charged towards her, his blade poised threateningly.  Somehow Narcissa managed to raise her own weapon correctly, causing their swords to connect in an explosion of light.  Narcissa was thrown back.  She landed with a nasty crack, and moaned softly in pain.

"_I know how you can beat him_."  She blinked.  Frank, a true gentleman, was actually giving her the time to collect herself and stand up!  "_A very simple spell should do the trick.  Docere - the spell of learning. It will temporarily teach you whatever you need to know._" The voice paused.  "_For this help you will of course owe me._"

Narcissa stood up, her head was bowed and her sword hung down by her side.  Her eyes were hidden from Frank Longbottom, but he could see the odd smile shaping her mouth.  Her grey gaze suddenly flickered up and pinned him in place.

"_Docere Gladius_!" she hissed.  A violent spasm seized her whole body, but it was gone in a heartbeat, panting she stared at the sword in her hand as if seeing it for the very first time.

"Narcissa?" question Longbottom hesitantly.  "You all right?"

"Perfectly," she smiled conceitedly, and then launched her surprise attack.

She fought as if she had been born to do it.  For all his skill Frank could not parry every thrust and within seconds a dozen small nicks stung his body.  Frank threw himself at her but her riposte was nothing short of perfect.  She ripped the sword from his grasp and sent it flying over the edge of the podium.  They both stared at it, followed by a thousand more eyes, all of them watching in disbelief.  Narcissa was the first to recover.

"_Finite Incantatem_," she said softly, in a flash her gleaming sword had returned to its original form of supple rosewood.  "_Expelliarmus_," she then breathed softly.  Longbottom's wand, which had transformed at the same time as Narcissa's own, stopped falling.  It hung in midair for a moment, and then flew to the hand of the person who had summoned it. 

"Miss Varvara wins!" exclaimed Flitwick, but he could barely be heard above the mixture of celebration and protestation in the stands.

Narcissa woke with a start, or rather _something_ woke her.  She was an incredibly light sleeper, and had even gone so far as to put a silencing charm on all of the clocks within hearing distance of her and Lucius' bedroom, because she found it so hard to fall asleep amid the constant ticking!

She peered around in the dim light.  Her eyes came to rest on the back of her husband's head, unaware of both his midnight excursion and the fact that he was actually feigning sleep.  She relaxed after a few moments and then, even though he had his back to her and only because she believed he was asleep, she tenderly ran one hand from his shoulder down the contours of his arm before resting against him and returning to sleep.

Two blue eyes shot open, and stayed that way until Narcissa's breathing took on the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.  Lucius then rolled over onto his back and turned his head to face his wife.  She looked so much happier when she was asleep.  A genuine smile almost touched his face.  He caught her hand, which she had left on his arm, and held it to his chest.

-


	5. Chapter Five: Hospital Visitor

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love 

Chapter Five: Hospital Visitor 

It was a horrid, grey morning that didn't quite know what to do with itself.  A light drizzle was falling outside.  The weak sun was trying half-heartedly to break through the clouds, which were masking a washed-out sky.  

Narcissa's eyes fluttered open as the mattress beneath her shifted.  She yawned sleepily and then stretched in a somewhat feline manner.  There was only empty space by her side, but the bed was still warm from where Lucius had been lying and Narcissa could hear the soothing sound of running water coming from their en-suite bathroom. 

She reached for her night robe, which was hung carelessly over the end of the bed, and then shrugged it on and knotted it tightly around her waist.  It was early; the morn chorus had only just started to sing, apparently unperturbed by the weather.  Narcissa propped a pillow up against the mahogany headboard and leant back into it.  She drew her knees up to her chin, a deceivingly innocent habit of hers, and let her thoughts run away with her.

Lucius stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, to see his wife still lost in thought.  She could be incredibly pensive at times.  He sometimes wondered what it was like inside the enigma of her mind.  He shook his head and glanced absently in the full-length mirror.  He was dressed in crisp, clean robes, not a hair dared stir out of place.  However, in sheer contrast to her husband, Narcissa was in a state of disarray.  Her legs were bare, her night robe was crumpled and her hair hung in wavy tangles, but Lucius preferred her like this, when her pedantic mask slipped.

"You look alarmingly preoccupied," was all he allowed himself to say.  

She shook herself out of her trancelike state.

"What have you done to yourself?" she asked softly, instead of making the sharp quip that he had been expecting.  A mild frown had settled on her face, and she was staring at his neatly bandaged hand.

"Nothing," he replied brusquely.  

Narcissa swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

"Nothing?  Lucius-" she began as she walked over to him.

"Don't fuss, Narcissa."  He shot her down and then left the bedroom. 

She dug her hands into the pockets of her robe and pouted briefly at the door before marching into the bathroom, slamming its door violently behind her.

Lucius was still near enough the bedroom to feel the walls tremble.  Despite the number of times that she had cleaned his wounds, and vice versa, he was always reluctant to drop his guard that extra fraction and let her in.  She was exactly the same.  Nevertheless, he could still recall in vivid detail the very first time that he had seen Narcissa's beautiful face stained with her own blood.

He had been expecting it, after all he had seen that idiot Longbottom tear her cheek open with his stupid attack.  Lucius walked through the cool corridors of Hogwarts with his black-haired companion trailing behind him.  He remembered quite clearly the shameful desire to strike Miss Varvara's Gryffindor opponent with a curse of his own.  It had been a completely irrational impulse, and one that he was trying very hard to forget.

"Can't we wait until tonight's celebration?  Why must we see her now, darling?" whined the stunning, raven-haired witch.

"Because I wish to," replied Lucius curtly.  "You needn't come, Isabelle."

"Oh but I wouldn't miss this for the world."  

The woman Isabelle smiled menacingly, but just as she was linking her arm with his, a door crashed open at the top of the flight of stairs that they were approaching.  A tall man in his late forties thundered down the set of steps.  To Isabelle's utter outrage he practically knocked her aside as he fumed passed.

"Well really!" she exclaimed furiously.  "You would think that the Varvaras could afford better manners!"

"The Varvaras?" repeated Lucius, for the first time taking note of what she was saying.  He was even looking after the dark-haired gentleman curiously.

"Still what can you expect," sniffed Isabelle snootily  "New money."

"Old blood," countered Lucius, and he began to climb the stairs towards the hospital wing without her.

"_If_ you believe the rumours!" snapped Isabelle pointedly, but Lucius wasn't listening, he was waiting though, his hand was resting on the handle of the door that led into the infirmary.

"Shall we?" he asked sardonically.  He let her take his arm again as he pushed open the door.

There were two rows of hospital beds in the infirmary and two of them were occupied.  A rather old nurse was treating Frank Longbottom in a bed close to the door.   She glanced up on hearing them enter, but didn't say anything to stop them.  Lucius' eyes promptly fell on Narcissa.  She was sitting on a bed next to the high window at the other end of the ward.  Her head was hung in what he interpreted as a very sombre pose.  A curtain of honey-coloured hair hid her face from him.  She must have heard them approach, but she didn't lift her gaze.

"So you came after all," she murmured softly, when Lucius stopped at the end of her bed.  Her eyes stayed downcast.

"Did you think that I wouldn't?" he asked suavely.

"I didn't give it much thought," Narcissa lied.  

Isabelle cleared her throat pointedly.

"Ah yes, Miss Varvara, this is Miss Isabelle Zabini."  Lucius' eyes glittered ruthlessly.

"How do you do?" Narcissa enquired politely, and she was forced to raise her head for the first time.

"Better than you it would appear," Isabelle replied with a smug grin.  

Narcissa feigned an innocent little inclination of her head, but Lucius was studying her closely.  The cut inflicted by Longbottom graced her right cheekbone, but the left side of her face was also heavily bruised and her bottom lip looked like it had been freshly split.

"You didn't leave the tournament looking like that," he stated adamantly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucius" snapped Isabelle swiftly.  

Narcissa's eyes flickered between the two lovers.  Lucius left his position at the end of her bed and walked around to Narcissa's side.  He drew up a chair that had been left by the bedside and sat down.  He could feel her profound gaze watching him the entire time.  There was the looked of a snared animal her eyes.  Entranced he reached his hand out, she looked like she wanted to bolt but instead stood her ground, even as he tilted her chin and traced a thumb across her blood-tinged lips.  It was the first time he'd touched her.  'Who was taunting who?' he couldn't help but wonder.

"I thought we had come to congratulate the girl," snarled Isabelle bitterly.  She rallied her thoughts - she was a lady; Narcissa was a child.  She was everything; Narcissa was nothing.  "Still, I expect it was rather embarrassing when you lost control of that lightning bolt," she added acidly.  

It was Narcissa who had the resolve to pull her head away from Lucius' grasp.

"I don't lose control," she stated emphatically.

"Really?" Isabelle sneered.  "So I suppose you meant to kill that boy?"

"No.  If I had meant to kill him then he would be dead."

Lucius shrugged himself out of the memory.  She had meant it too, _really_ meant it.  Seemingly he had reached the breakfast table on autopilot, because that was where he now sat.  Footsteps in the passage alerted him to someone's approach, causing him to snatch up the Daily Prophet and open it at a random page.  Narcissa strolled in, looking her usual, well-groomed self.  Her husband's eyes ran over her neat figure, coming to rest on her slightly glossy lips.  He conquered any desire that they might have evoked and concentrated fully on the paper in front of him.

"I've been thinking about this tutor you want to hire for Draco," she said while pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm?" he murmured, from behind the Daily Prophet.  Narcissa drew a deep, calming breath and fought the urge to roll her eyes before continuing.

"Well, I could do it.  It's all very well for you; you'll be away at work, but I'll have to cope with a stranger snooping around the house all day and-and are you listening to me, Lucius!"

"Every word, dear," he replied condescendingly, as he turned a page of the newspaper.

"Well?!"

"What about Snape?" he asked lazily.

"Severus?  Oh please!"

"You know you have no patience, and Draco certainly has no willingness to learn.  You'll be at each others' throats."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Lucius," snapped Narcissa curtly.  

At precisely this moment Draco entered the room, carrying the post, both of his parents turned and frowned at him in some bemusement.

"_She_ asked me to bring them in," he explained, meaning the maid and the letters.

"You don't usually do what's asked of you," said Narcissa suspiciously as her son handed her a letter.  She broke open the seal and unfolded it carefully.  Lucius watched over the top of the paper as a frown settled on her face and gradually darkened as she read the letter.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied slowly.  Lucius cocked one eyebrow.

"You don't know or you don't want me to know?"

"It's from my mother," she said reluctantly, as if this were an explanation.  Draco's head snapped up and he abandoned the toast that he had been buttering.  Lucius even put the newspaper to one side.

"Well, well," he breathed dangerously, "and what does she have to say?"

"She's in hospital," replied Narcissa carefully.

"Again?  I cannot imagine why that should be," he said dryly.  Narcissa blushed red; she glanced quickly at Draco, but then seemed to visibly pull herself together.

"She wants me to go and visit her."

Lucius stood up without touching the breakfast that had been laid before him.  Narcissa watched her husband anxiously.

"Use your own judgement, but do not dare look to me for approval," he said sharply.  "Oh and Draco," he added more calmly as he turned to his son.  "Good news, your mother has decided to take it upon herself to school you this summer, so, if your grades don't improve next year we'll know who to blame."

Draco glanced warily at his mother, Narcissa looked decidedly pale.  Lucius glared at his wife one last time before sweeping out of the room apparently on his way to work.  Narcissa drew another deep breath and then sipped the coffee that was still cupped in her hand.  She wrinkled her nose in distaste when she realised that it was still black.  Sighing she sat down and pushed the bitter beverage aside.

Smothering silence descended upon the room.  The damp, dreary morning outside seemed to seep through the walls and infect the house.  Narcissa let the minutes slip by as she replaced her mask of frigid sobriety.  Her son's eyes never left her face.  When she spoke again her voice reflected nothing but serenity.

"Well Draco, do you feel like visiting your grandmother today?"

"But father-"

"Need never know," she interjected calmly.  They watched each other guardedly for a moment, but then Draco smiled deviously.  It was rather fun, this collusion.  

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was a cheerless place.  It tried very hard not to be, it was pleasantly decorated and brightly coloured, but with so much sickness around it was virtually infected itself, and the depressing atmosphere was somewhat inescapable.

Narcissa and Draco were walking through the hospital's foyer, which was skirted by a few over exuberant shops - '_Rewolf's Florist_ – _our_ _flowers need no water and never wilt!  Perfect for the bed bound!_'' and '_Sweets Galore_ – _nil by mouth?  Never fear!  Our illusionary sweet taste just like the real thing, but aren't_!'  Narcissa was eyeing each one cynically when her son suddenly paused and pointed.

"Longbottom?  What's he doing here?"

Narcissa glanced in the direction that Draco was indicating.  A rather pathetic looking boy was walking by the side of an old woman, who was wearing a tall hat with a grotesque stuffed vulture on top.  Narcissa could have recognised the woman without her son's aid.

"Draco, go and buy some flowers for your grandmother," she said casually, reaching into her purse for some money.

"But mother," he moaned.

"_Now_, Draco," she said firmly.  He took the money, and then stomped off into the florist's shop glaring.

Narcissa waited.  The old woman hadn't seen her, but she would, and sure enough a few moments later her sad eyes wandered around, they passed Narcissa blankly once before shooting back to her.  She seemed to bristle at the mere sight of the blonde witch, and practically dragged Neville over to where she was standing.

"You've got some nerve!" she seethed; her chin was literally quivering with rage.

"Oh?" breathed Narcissa mildly.

"Come to gloat have you!?  _I_ know why that evil monster really attacked my son and his darling wife _after_ the fall of the Dark Lord!"

"Gran?" whimpered Neville, who had never seen Narcissa Malfoy before, but who could recognise trouble in all of its seductive forms.

"He was besotted with you!  He never forgave Frank for injuring you in that _stupid_ duel!"

"What a truly fanciful theory," remarked Narcissa indulgently.

"Why you-" she began furiously, but stopped when Neville gave a little shriek; he had just noticed Draco coming out of the florists looking livid.  He was carrying a bunch of flowers, which he thrust at his mother.

"What are you looking at, Longbottom?" he snarled nastily.  Neville hid behind his grandmother, who rounded on Draco.

"How dare you talk to my grandson like that?!" she spat.  Narcissa stepped forwards.

"And how dare you talk to my son in such a manner."  Her voice was as calm and level as ever, but the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.  Neville's grandmother stopped fuming; she paled a little and snatched up her grandson's hand.

"Come on Neville, we're going," she muttered, and with that rushed off.

"What was that about, mother?" asked Draco curiously.

"Nothing important," replied Narcissa, though her voice was decidedly clipped.  

-


	6. Chapter Six: Broken Woman

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love 

Chapter Six: Broken Woman

****

Narcissa cradled the bunch of flowers in the crook of one of her arms as she walked through the hospital.  She glanced down at her mother's letter and then looked back up grudgingly at a blue hospital sign, which showed the entrance to the ward that her mother had directed her to.

"Here we are then," she remarked unenthusiastically as she refolded the letter crisply.  Perhaps bringing Draco hadn't been the greatest idea?  Lucius would certainly _not_ like it, but then he wasn't going to find out, so it hardly mattered.

St Mungo's Russell Ward had its own little reception area, and sitting behind the front desk was a girl who looked as if she was about eighteen-years-old.  She was chewing the end of a quill, and swinging back on her chair while reading a magazine, completely oblivious to what was happening around her.

Narcissa rolled her eyes at the receptionist in disgust, but didn't wait to be acknowledged by her.  She walked straight passed the front desk, followed closely by Draco, but just before they entered the actually ward Narcissa slipped her hand covertly beneath her black cloak and stroked her wand.  The faintest hint of a smirk twisted her face.  A gasp of fear and then a cry of pain echoed behind them.  Draco span around to see the slack receptionist in a heap on the floor; her chair had just collapsed beneath her…

Russell Ward was deathly silent.  Elderly witches and wizards filled most of the beds, and on closer inspection many of them looked barely alive.  Draco drew just a tiny bit closer to his mother than was normal, while Narcissa's eyes scanned the ward quickly.  A rather plump nurse, who was dressed in a royal blue uniform, came out of a little side room and quickly bustled over to the Malfoys when she'd seen them.

"Can I help 'ee, love?" asked the nurse of Narcissa.  She had quite a thick Cornish accent, and the years were starting to show on her jovial face.

"Hopefully," drawled Narcissa, who's own enunciation seemed to sharpen.  "I'm looking for a patient by the name of Elaine Varvara."

"Oh 'igh'," she nodded.  "The dear's in there," finished the nurse.  She pointed to a private room that was adjacent to the main ward.

Narcissa nodded her thanks coolly.  She placed a hand lightly on Draco's shoulder and steered him towards her mother's room.

Mrs Varvara, Elaine, had not quite reached her sixties, and yet she looked like a woman at Death's door.  Once upon a time she had possessed the same glossy blonde hair as her daughter, but it now fell to her shoulders in limp grey waves, as a girl her eyes had shone like sapphires, but were now faded beyond recognition, and her once creamy skin looked oddly grubby, hanging painfully off her delicate little frame.  

Narcissa took all of these changes onboard in an instant, but did not comment on them.  Her mother's hollowed eyes focused on her, and yet Mrs Varvara's expression did not alter at all.  No joy or relief lit her face; her features stayed fixed in the same trampled acceptance that had been her sole expression for more years than she could remember.

"You made it then," she sighed, her lips barely moved and her voice was so weak that a sudden breeze might have stolen it from her.

"With the help of some farmer's wife posing as a nurse," sneered Narcissa with distaste.  She dropped the flowers carelessly onto a small bedside table.  Her mother sighed breathlessly and sank further into her plump pillows.

"You are forgetting your roots."

Draco frowned at his grandmother's words, and gave his mother a look of surprise that was tinged with obvious distaste.

"Is that why you summoned me, mother?  So we could recount the good old days?" Narcissa asked sarcastically.  

Mrs Varvara tried to shake her head, but gave up when the effort required overtook her.

Narcissa took off her cloak and laid it over the foot of the bed.  Her mother noted that the dress she wore was the mystic blue colour of the midnight sky, with a fitted bodice and a long, fanned skirt it suited her impeccably.  For all of her many faults Mrs Varvara could not deny her daughter's beauty, but perhaps that too was a failing?  A weapon Narcissa had learnt to wield?  Elaine Varvara shut her eyes for a moment, why only now could she see clearly? 

"I didn't know if you'd come," she murmured, as she opened her eyes again.  "My nurse pressed me into contacting you.  I didn't think you'd bring Draco, I scarcely recognise him."  She looked passed her daughter to her grandson and attempted a smile.  Draco stared at his mother for guidance, but found none.

"That's hardly surprising is it, mother?  Giving that you've only seen him a handful of times," shot Narcissa mercilessly.  She wanted to unleash some of her pent-up energy, to pace the room, to at least wander over to a window, except there wasn't one.  So she stood stock-still, like a slowly boiling kettle.

"Narcissa, I don't want to fight, not anymore."  It was virtually a plea.  "My time is so very short."

"What do you mean?" asked Narcissa, her eyes narrowed shrewdly.  Draco listened intently; the two women had practically forgotten that he was there.

"Why do you think I'm here?" sighed Elaine Varvara, her eyes fluttered shut miserably.

"Because _he_ put you here again," hissed Narcissa venomously.  It wasn't a question, but an absolute belief.

"No," whispered her mother, but she bowed her head as if ashamed.  "I haven't got long left," she paused.  "I'm dying."

Two words, Narcissa barely even blinked.  There should have been more.  They should have meant more.  She knew she should have cried, wept, been hysterical with grief, but all she managed was a resigned little nod and a glance at her own son.  Draco was watching her with his father's eyes; maybe he was expecting her to burst into tears?  No, neither of them would know how to deal with that.

"They can't treat you?"  Narcissa's voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.  Perhaps later she would feel…something?

"I don't want them to."  

Narcissa stared at her mother hard.  So that was where she got it from, she had wondered…  There had to be _some_ backbone to the woman she had once called mama.  For probably the first time in her life she felt a hint of pride for her mother.  Perhaps pride was too strong a word; she felt robbed too, not of love or support or anything of that calibre, but of the comeuppance she had longed to see her mother deliver to her father.

"Why did you want to see me?" Narcissa asked at length.  

Mrs Varvara battled to sit up, Narcissa watched her struggle, but did not offer to help.  Once the older woman was upright she tried to recapture some of her shattered dignity, unknown to her it had all been lost years ago.

"I'm not stupid, Narcissa," she stated, holding her head as high as she could muster.  She looked into her daughter's unblinking eyes and had to lower her gaze almost immediately.  "I know why your father still lives."

"Draco, see if you can find a vase for the flowers," commanded Narcissa firmly.  

Draco stared at her; they both knew she couldn't care less about the flowers, and even if she had, Narcissa was quite capable of plucking a vase from thin air if she wished.  But Draco played along; after all, he was quite certain that he'd be able to turn this set of circumstances to his advantage sooner or later.  

"I know why you have never thrown the full weight of the Malfoy name behind destroying him," Elaine Varvara continued breathlessly, once Draco had gone.  

"Really?" challenged Narcissa.

"Because for all your bitter coldness, you know that hurting him would hurt me."

"You think so?" smiled Narcissa frostily.  A flicker of doubt glimmered in her mother's eyes.  "I wanted to give _you_ the opportunity of besting him, just once in your miserable, insignificant life."

"Yes, of course," Elaine smiled, terribly sadly.  "But all the same, the outcome has been the same."  She seemed to hesitate for a moment.  "I think maybe once you even stopped Lucius from breaking your father.  I don't know what that must have cost you," she murmured restlessly.  

"Why must it have cost me anything?" snapped Narcissa.

"I know Lucius Malfoy!" cried her mother; it was the strongest she had appeared for the entire visit.

"Do you really think so?" asked Narcissa mockingly.

"He is a monster, Narcissa!"

"He is not a monster to me."

"How long will that last?" demanded her mother, her voice faded with every word.  "What if Draco had been a girl?  Would it have ended then?  What about when your looks fade, when your hair greys?  What then?"

"You do not understand," muttered Narcissa quietly.

"Please, Narcissa, get out while you can!" begged Mrs Varvara.

"You want to redeem me," laughed Narcissa suddenly.  "I can see it in your eyes," she shook her head bitterly.  "But I am not like you, mother.  I went into my marriage with my eyes wide open.  I never tried to make Lucius anything other than what he was," she paused to draw breath, "you failed with father, in whatever it was that you hoped to achieve.  You set yourself against him and he broke you.  The Malfoys are the same.  I need only to think of my predecessor to know that, but they won't destroy me, because I too am like them," she finished defiantly, but then the hardness of her face softened a mere fraction.  "Mother, you were too good to mix with the Varvaras or the Malfoys of this world."  She stopped and then forced herself to speak again.  Her tone was almost tender.  "I am sorry for you, mama.  Truly."  She blinked and saw that Draco was standing in the doorway.  'How long had he been waiting there?' she wondered, but all she said was: "Come, we're leaving."

"Wait, Narcissa!"  Her mother's rattling breath gasped after her as she pushed her son out into the main ward.  "Please, promise a dying woman that you won't destroy her husband!"

"I can't," replied Narcissa harshly as she turned back.  "You lie here dying because you cannot bear to live any longer.  Why is that?" she demanded ruthlessly.

"Please Narcissa, if you ever loved me-"

"I do not expect you to understand." 

"Please Narcissa-"

"I cannot change what I am."

"Please-"

"No!"

There, it was said.  Narcissa knew it would be the last word that she would ever speak to her mother.  She felt liberated.  No more concealment, no more lies, a fragment of the truth had finally been spoken between them.  She turned away for the final time, deaf to the pleas her mother continued to implore of her.

"I don't see a vase," she muttered at Draco, who shrugged.

"I was talking to one of the nurses."

Narcissa wasn't listening; she was marching along the sterile passageways as if her very life depended upon it.  Corridors and wards blurred into one hazy entity until they once again stood outside the hospital in the fresh summer air. 

They had got to St Mungo's by use of Floo powder, but as Narcissa stood before the public grate, waiting in line to buy a pinch of the powder from the old wizard operating the stand, she suddenly had a change of heart.  She needed time to think and reconcile her thoughts.

"Let's get the train home," she said unexpectedly.

Draco stared at his mother in disbelief.  It would take longer just to get to the station than it would to get home by Floo powder!

"Why?" he demanded sullenly, but Narcissa did not answer.  

In fact, she didn't speak to him again until they had reached the train station, purchased their tickets and found a bench on platform 7½ to sit upon.  She was a strange creature, as hard and beautiful as a diamond in one instant, and then as deep and pensive as a philosopher the next. 

"Draco, you're not a child anymore," she said distantly.  "I need to tell you something."

"About grandmother?" he asked.  He didn't seem very interested; the whole day had been a huge disappointment as far as he was concerned!

"I suppose so.  In a small way at least," replied Narcissa difficultly.  "I'm not sure that I fully realised this morning, but I went to visit my mother today for one reason only: to see if she would say to me what no one ever has."  Draco frowned as he at least tried to look as though he was attempting follow his mother's logic.  "No that's not what I meant to say.  _I_ don't matter, I'm a lost cause," she added softly, in a resigned but not bitter fashion.  "I need you to know, whatever I have done, whatever I am yet to do, I love you."  She drew a steadying breath, although each move was calculated, and glanced sideways at her son.  Draco looked uncomfortable; he opened his mouth hesitantly.

"Mother-"

"Don't say anything," interjected Narcissa awkwardly.  "One day, probably when I'm dead and gone, you'll understand why it needed to be said."  She looked out across the station, then said, almost to herself: "I've never said those three words to anyone before."

Draco snapped back to his old probing self.

"Not even father?" he demanded.

"No, not even to your father," replied Narcissa slowly.

"Why not?" Draco asked, just as an impressive steam train pulled into the station.  

Narcissa welcomed the distraction.  For all her manipulative conniving she had spoken too freely, revealed too much.  Words were cheap, spoken too tritely, but once said they could not be taken back.  Draco could never maintain that his mother had not claimed to love him.   He wandered over to the train, his mother a few steps behind him.  'Why not?" the question repeated itself in her mind until she muttered to herself.

"Because he has never said that he loves me."

-


	7. Chapter Seven: Curses & Celebrations

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

Tainted Love****

Chapter Seven: Curses & Celebrations

The great, emerald train sounded its shrill whistle and emitted a blinding puff of smoke and steam that filled the whole platform.  The carriage doors opened and the passengers disembarked.  Once the way was clear Draco stepped onboard and then turned around to wait for his mother to catch up with him.  

But Narcissa had stopped.  

The smoke lingered like a mist around her.  She was staring, fixated, at a shadowy figure standing at the other end of the platform.  Draco froze and waited for the smoke to clear.

Narcissa gazed intently at the dark outline of a man: tall and broad, and unmistakably familiar.  The smoke lifted, taking with it the haze that had somewhat clouded her mind recently, leaving the poised fangs of a snake in its wake.

"Father," she spat, speaking to herself.  Draco made an attempt to return to his mother's side, one foot was onboard the train, the other back on the stone platform, but Narcissa moved to stop him.  "Get on the train," she demanded.

"No!  You're always pushing me aside!" shouted Draco angrily.  Narcissa turned her back on the dark-haired gentleman, who was fast approaching them, and rounded on her son.

"This isn't a game!" she hissed quietly.  "Don't make me force you onboard," she threatened.  Draco looked suddenly uneasy and took a step backwards onto the train.  Narcissa quickly slammed the carriage door shut so that it stood as a barrier between them.  "Thank you," she nodded insincerely.  

One of the station guards wandered by, checking that all of the doors were secure.  Narcissa's father was drawing ever nearer.

"I'll Apparate and meet you at the other end, at the village station," she told Draco quickly, as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Why can't you come _now_?" he asked sulkily, as the guard gave the train driver the all clear.

"Because I can't," replied Narcissa unhelpfully.  

Draco scowled blackly and stomped off down the carriage without so much as a backwards glance at his mother.  The train juddered forwards and pulled out of the station.  The guard and all of the lingering passengers left with speedy efficiency.  Narcissa held her body taut.  The fine hairs on the back of her neck were standing up on end.  The man, her father, had reached her side.

"How did you know where to find us?" she asked coldly.  She kept her gaze on the now empty train track and refused to look at him.

"A friend told me," replied Mr Adrian Varvara cryptically.

"So you thought you would ambush me here, because you dare not come to the Manor?" laughed Narcissa derisively.  Her father refused to answer this question.

"Stay away from my wife!" he spat instead.  "She doesn't need _you_ filling her head with stupid ideas!"

"I have no intention of returning to St Mungo's," confessed Narcissa carelessly.

"I know it was you who poisoned her mind against me!" he ranted.  His face became contorted in an ugly sneer.  "You made her refuse treatment just to make me look bad!"

"No, she made the decision all on her own," retorted Narcissa mockingly.  "And as for poisoning her mind against you, you managed that all on _your_ own."  That much was true, for all her vain attempts Narcissa had never succeeded in fully turning her mother against her father.  Elaine Varvara may have been prepared to die to escape his violent clutches, but the poor woman couldn't stop loving him. 

Adrian grabbed his daughter's arm, spun her around and marched her backwards, until her back was pressed up against the wall of the platform's little waiting room.  He released her momentarily, but then slammed her forcefully against the brick wall, failing to notice the glint in her steely eyes.  When he released her again she ducked passed him quickly and slipped into the empty waiting room.

"I would stop doing that if I were you," she spat as she heard him follow.  She had her back to him, so that he couldn't see her pull out her wand.

"You cannot hide behind the Malfoy name forever.  It does not scare me!" snarled her father maliciously.

"Then you are an ever bigger fool than I'd thought!"

"Your threats are empty!  Fifteen years and not so much as a scratch!" he laughed mockingly.

"Let us amend that then, shall we?"  She turned around, her wand was drawn, her face pernicious.  He reached for his own wand in surprise; he was not used to people fighting back, but he was too slow in doing so.  "_Crucio!_"

The Cruciatus curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses, could earn the wizard who had cast it a life sentence in Azkaban.  This rational thought was not absent from Narcissa's mind, merely overpowered by the all-consuming desire to hurt her father.  He fell to his knees and writhed on the floor, twitching and shaking uncontrollably, but no scream tore itself from his open mouth; his pain went far beyond that.  Her revenge lasted only seconds, but she would never forget the image of her father robbed of all power and dignity.  She broke the spell and stepped over his shaking body, which remained curled up on the floor, rocking gently from side to side.

"Now _you_ have glimpsed what it is like to be helpless, to be a victim of such pain that you long for death," she paused, savouring each word.  "But it does not end here."

With that final threat spoken she Disapparated, appearing almost instantaneously on a tiny little platform that belonged to the railway station in the village of the Manor's parish.  Narcissa stood still and waited for the adrenaline rush to subside, for her heart to stop racing and her hands to stop shaking.  Weary exhaustion would take its place.  The Cruciatus curse required a great deal of magic and energy.  All the same, she hated to be reminded of the limitations of her body!  

Westbury-on-Severn's tiny train station was utterly neglected.  The Muggles never used it and very few wizards ever needed to pass through the pretty riverside village, unless of course they were visiting the Malfoys.  Narcissa brushed the cobwebs off a wooden bench with peeling green paint and sat down.  Again she waited, for guilt or grief, elation or liberation, but none of those emotions came.  Instead she prepared to go over the day's events, in an attempt to make sense of everything that had happened since receiving her mother's letter.  Unwelcome and unbidden her mind's eye saw another, much older letter, which she had received as a girl of just seventeen…

The heavy parchment was black, the bold script silver.  Narcissa rushed from the hospital wing, her cuts and bruises hidden, dressed in her finery, all ready for the evening's celebrations.  Yet she didn't make her way to the Great Hall, where things were just beginning to get underway.  Instead she made her way down into the abandoned dungeons of the castle.  She walked purposefully through the damp corridors until reaching a small, locked door, which she knocked on three times.

"Hurry up, it's me," she hissed in a low, excited whisper.  

The door swung open slowly.  The tiny room beyond was littered with all manner of concoctions.  Brews and potions filled rickety shelves that lined the walls.  A cauldron sat bubbling gloomily in the centre of the chamber, while behind it stood a Hogwarts pupil.  He was in the year below her, but there was only a few months difference between their ages.

"Come to gloat?" sighed the boy indifferently.  He had very pale swallow skin, which was framed by lanky black hair.  He could hardly be bothered to pull his gaze away, from the simmering blue liquid before him, to look at Narcissa.

"About what?" she asked with annoyance.

"Your hospital visit from the heir to the illustrious Malfoy dynasty," he sneered sarcastically.

"How do you know about that?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"_Everybody_ knows about that."

"Really?" smiled Narcissa smugly.  "But anyway," she said, refocusing, "that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, Severus."  She pulled the unusual letter out of her pocket and handed it to him.  Severus Snape read it slowly, while Narcissa waited impatiently for him to finish.

"So, Lord Voldemort wants to meet you."

"But, do you think it's genuine?" she asked anxiously; this was what she really wanted his opinion on.  He was her fellow conspirator, although she was not his.  She trusted his judgement, he _knew_ things; things a boy of his age had no right to know.

"Undoubtedly," he replied easily.

"You're sure?"  Narcissa seemed to waver.  "How do you know?"

"Because I delivered it."  The shock apparent on Narcissa's face made her confidant give a slippery smile.  "I left it by your bed in the hospital wing when you went to change."

"You?" repeated Narcissa, in somewhat of a daze.  She recovered quickly however.  "Then you deal in more than just blackmail and theft nowadays?"

"It would seem so."

"Why me?  Why now?" she couldn't help but ask.

"I have a certain _duty_ if you like, to spread the Dark word to those deemed suitable," he replied slowly, and then returned his attention to the bubbling potion that he was brewing.

"And I'm suitable?" pressed Narcissa.

"_He_ thought so, after I told him about your latest attempt at patricide," Severus replied idly.

"But I failed." 

"Intent - that is all he needs."  Severus was still holding the letter.  "You'll go?"  She nodded resolutely.  "Then you'd best dispose of this," he said, tossing the letter into the fire beneath his cauldron.  "Hadn't you better go and enjoy the celebrations?" he asked contemptuously; as far as he was concerned everything that needed to be said had been. 

"Aren't you coming?"

"No!" he snorted.  "I have more freedom when certain members of this school are otherwise engaged."

Narcissa turned to leave, but something else occurred to her, something entirely removed from the Dark Lord, or so she had then thought.

"I may need your help with something, Severus.  Depending on how things pan out that is," she confided in him carefully.

"The black-haired witch?" he asked with superior smugness…

…Isabelle Zabini.  Narcissa eased away the frown that had formed on her face.  That woman had always held too much sway over her thoughts.  She had realised years ago that she had been young and naïve during their first encounters, but she had still won.  Narcissa glanced down at her left hand, at the shimmering ring on her finger, for proof of her victory.  Nevertheless, she had been waiting her entire marriage for their rematch.

The Ministry of Magic's offices were situated on the outskirts of the City of London.  To the Muggle eye they simply looked like derelict office blocks, but if you could see passed the enchantment they were quite simply breathtaking.  There were three blocks, positioned in the shape of an isosceles triangle, connected by glass tubes, big enough to walk through, which crisscrossed between the towers, each of which was twice the height of Big Ben.

Nearly on the top floor of one of these building, in an office with one large window, stood Lucius Malfoy.  He was gazing out of the window; beneath the Ministry, scurrying around like ants, were hundreds of Muggles.  How he loathed them!  He took a silver Sickle from the pocket of his robe and played with it absently.  If he opened the window and dropped it from this height it could easily kill a passer-by below.  He knew; he'd tried it before.

Lucius left the window and strolled over to his bureau, which was covered in papers and gave the same appearance of organised chaos as his desk at home.  He sat down and picked up a yellow form on his department's expenditure, which he had already started to falsify.  Lucius had discovered that wizards had an infallible trust in numbers; they were completely non-magical and mundane, and therefore believed to be utterly trustworthy.  Lucius smiled slyly.  Still, it was dull, time-consuming work, so he laid the paper aside for a moment and pulled a pile of files towards himself instead.  

He was flicking through these when he noticed a report on 'Muggle-Baiting and The Jinxing of Timepieces'.  Lucius curled his lip in disgust.  It had obviously been misdirected; there was only one department that dealt in such pathetic matters!

A few minutes later Lucius stood outside a door labelled 'The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office'.  He pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond without bothering to knock.  Perkins, an old warlock, and the only other member of staff employed by the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office apart from Arthur Weasley, looked up from his desk.  He was slightly deaf, but insisted categorically that he wasn't.

"Can I help?" he barked gruffly.

"Is Arthur Weasley in?" asked Lucius, in his typical cool drawl.  He glanced around the cluttered office disdainfully.

"What?" Perkins shouted.  Lucius' blue eyes flashed.

"Arthur Weasley," he repeated firmly, in a slightly raised voice.  "Where is he?" he asked, but Perkins continued to look at him as though he was speaking a foreign language.  

Cursing under his breath, Lucius marched across the little office to the only other desk in the room.  He snatched up the little name plaque that was sitting there proclaiming Arthur's name and then slammed it meaningfully down in front of Perkins, who didn't appear to be in the least fazed.

"You're looking for Arthur?"  Lucius worked very hard to restrain himself to a stilted nod and a glare.  "You've heard about his big win then?" Perkins continued affably.  Lucius raised an inquisitive eyebrow and felt his fury begin to ebb away.  "He's only gone and won the Daily Prophet's Grand Prize Galleon Draw!" exclaimed Perkins enviously.

"Really?" breathed Lucius with a sly smile, just as Arthur appeared from a back room to find out what all the commotion in his office was about.  "I hear congratulations are in order, Weasley?" he said silkily, while Arthur hurriedly dropped a yellow rubber duck that he'd been carrying.  "You've finally got your hands on some money?"

"What are you doing in my office, Malfoy?" demanded Arthur sharply, although he looked rather flustered.  Lucius casually lifted up the report on Muggle-baiting.

"I can't imagine anyone needs that money as much as you," Lucius went on, knowing Perkins was deaf to his attack.  "Perhaps the people at the Daily Prophet just felt sorry for you and fixed the results?"

"Men like you have always, and will always, place to much emphasis on monetary gain!" spat Arthur Weasley, who was practically shaking with rage.

"Yes well, I'm sure my sentiments would be exactly the same if my financial situation was as precarious as yours, Weasley," replied Lucius lightly.  Arthur went a deeper shade of red, and he seemed to be struggling to find an adequate response, so he settled for a rather churlish one.

"Get out of my office!"

"With pleasure," smiled Lucius, dropping the report onto Arthur's desk.

Lucius wandered back to his department feeling rather pleased with himself.  He had been in a foul mood all day, triggered by the unexpected arrival of his mother-in-law's letter, but the day looked as though it might turn out all right.  He was just approaching his office when a junior-assistant, he hadn't bothered to learn his name, rushed over to him.

"There was a woman here to see you, sir."

"What?" Lucius frowned.

"Only she wouldn't give her name and I couldn't get her to stay," bumbled on the assistant.   

Lucius simply strolled passed him to his office door, which he opened, walked through and then shut dispassionately in the young man's face.

-


	8. Chapter Eight: Only Heirs

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.

Tainted Love

Chapter Eight: Only Heirs

The scenery flashed before Draco's young eyes, as if it was part of an endless, uninteresting watercolour.  Field after field, sometimes a river or hill, all dotted with sheep, cows, the occasional horse: the kingdom of adolescent boredom.  He slumped sideways, leant his head against the cold glass of the train window and silently cursed his mother…and his grandfather…and his grandmother for that matter!

A whole day wasted!  He expelled an angry breath and watched as it condensed on the windowpane.  Maybe he could at least blackmail his mother into buying him a Firebolt now?  

Apart from Draco the entire carriage was empty.  Unlike the Hogwarts Express, there were no separate compartments.  It was much more like the Muggle trains, just lines of seats with an aisle running down the centre, undoubtedly more cost efficient in the long run.

Draco glanced back out of the window; it had cleared.  He caught a glimpse of his furious reflection.  Once upon a time that hard glare would have been enough to stop his mother in her tracks.  He lowered his eyes.  Those early years of his childhood seemed like a lifetime ago.  Things had started to go wrong for Draco as soon as he had entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hogwarts had been his mother's choice; his father had wanted to send him abroad to be schooled.  Draco had thought long and hard about this conflict between his parents.  He had never been told why their opinions had differed so much, but he had settled on two imaginary reasons, despite knowing, deep down, that they were wholly improbable.  All the same, he had nearly convinced himself that his mother didn't want to send him away to another country because she wanted him nearer to home, and he liked to believe that his father had wanted to keep him out of the crossfire.  Whatever plans Lucius Malfoy had for Hogwarts surely he wouldn't want his own son hurt?  Comforting yet unlikely, these were the reasons Draco had decided on.  He could probably find out the truth if he simply asked his parents.  He had never asked.  He didn't want to know the truth.

Draco frowned more darkly.  Why had things gone wrong?  It was probably because his mother and father had ceased to be solely that, _just_ his parents.  Removed from their son they became detached and objective, they saw more clearly the faults that they had been willing to overlook before.  They saw a lack of commitment, a lack of caution and a lack of sense.  

The Malfoy family, like so many old aristocratic families, had an unwritten code - one male heir per generation.  Of course, in practise this was not always possible.  Elder daughters were quite rare, but not unprecedented…second sons were unheard of.  Draco sighed inaudible.  He, and indeed his mother, and been very lucky.  But there was a very significant difference between them - his mother was safe in the knowledge that she had fulfilled her role; Draco had not even begun his!  This role, in the cool light of day, was a very simple one; the Malfoy heir was expected to equal or better his father.  Maintaining, hopefully improving, the Malfoy lineage.  Draco slumped back into the uncomfortable seat in defeat, how was he _ever_ going to surpass his father?  It was impossible!  So why even try?  He would have liked the chance to observe the relationship between his own father and grandfather, to perhaps learn exactly what it was that was expected of him this way, but his paternal grandfather had died when he had been just a baby.

Draco had wondered briefly, fleetingly, if his father had had a hand in his grandfather's death.  He _was_ the son of a murderer - fact - it had ceased to upset him.  There was something perversely comforting about it.  He was privileged to stand within his father's circle of protection, or so he hoped! 

But Lucius Malfoy had not killed his father.

Draco could remember that Dobby, the Malfoy's old House Elf, had let this fact slip.  At the time Draco had been bullying the Elf, for information about his father's involvement in his grandfather's death.  He'd been throwing soot over Dobby's clean laundry, if he remembered correctly.  Furiously, Dobby had told Draco that his master could not possibly have been involved!  The task of arranging his grandfather's entire funeral had fallen solely to his mother, because his father had been away from home for some considerable length of time before and after the unfortunate event.  Young Draco had been desperate to know why, but the poor House Elf had already run off to shut his head in a window to punish himself for his indiscretion.

The train rumbled to a halt and Draco snapped out of his unusually profound thoughts.  He could see his mother waiting for him on the little, shabby platform.  Standing up Draco prepared to disembark.  He couldn't deny to himself that he felt a tiny prickle of relief.  He wasn't quite sure what the feud between his parents and his mother's family was all about, but in the past he had heard his mother and father arguing about it furiously.  

His parents argued _a_ _lot_.  When Draco had been a little boy, young and naïve, he had found it quite funny, to see them lose their usual cool reserve so completely.  But as he had grown older it had ceased to amuse him.  He still wasn't above pitting them against each other if he could possibly benefit from it, but he was terrified of going home one holiday to find his mother gone!  He didn't think he could cope with his father alone.  

Draco stepped off the train into the warm, sticky afternoon and grunted non-communicatively at his mother.  She didn't say a word.  He glanced up at her covertly, she looked tired and older then usual.  Perhaps she _did_ love him?  No.  Maybe?  He wasn't sure; his mother was so hard to read!

After forcefully shutting his office door Lucius Malfoy frowned down at a note that appeared to have been slipped beneath it.  He clicked two gloved fingers sharply and the scrap of folded paper levitated.  He plucked it out of the air and unfolded it deftly.  In the middle of the piece of paper sat one solitary line.

_'I'm sorry I missed you.'_

Lucius looked somewhat bemused.  He flipped the paper over in search of a name, but whoever had written the note had failed to sign it.  He studied it suspiciously for a few more moments; he hated being in the dark!  It smelt very faintly of a woman's perfume.  Something niggled at the very back of Lucius' mind, but annoyingly he couldn't quite place it.   

He strolled over to his desk, sat down and tossed the little note carelessly on top of a small heap of post.  Beneath the anonymous letter, among other things, lay a party invitation from a wizard called Macnair, or his wife at least.  Like Lucius, Macnair also worked for the Ministry, in the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures department, as an executioner.  He was not given to throwing parties, which was why Lucius attributed the invitation to his wife.

Excuses as to why he couldn't go were annoyingly reluctant to present themselves to Lucius, such engagements were a chore that a man of his status expected to endure, a necessary evil.  Well most of them at least…

…She had arrived slightly late.  A momentary hush had fallen over the crowd and even the music seemed to lull, as the whole of Hogwarts acknowledged her presence.  But this stillness passed quickly.  Lucius sipped a drink and watched calmly from the sidelines as Narcissa was immediately surrounded by a whole horde of people.  She smiled and laughed, while Lucius frowned, this outward glow seemed terribly false.  Couldn't anyone else see that?  

Isabelle tapped her foot irritably by his side, he hadn't realised people actually did that in real life.

"I don't suppose we're going to dance?" she snapped, as she tossed her hair over one shoulder. 

Lucius would have liked to agree, but it suddenly struck him that his actions up until that point had been decidedly out of character.  Who was this girl to warrant such attention?  She was attractive, but not remarkably so, with a little talent, and that was all.  Hardly a rarity!  He caught Isabelle by the hand and led her to the dance floor.

They moved slowly around the Great Hall with the other couples.  Isabelle pressed her pliant body against her partner's and moved against him evocatively.  That was when Lucius noticed her, watching him, or rather them.  She was speaking to Dumbledore, of all people!  But her eyes were more often on him, a smile played on her lips, which were now unblemished.  What else was she hiding?  He felt Isabelle lean her head against his chest; across the room Narcissa mimicked the movement by tilting her head.  Lucius drew a sharp breath at which Isabelle giggled, misunderstanding his response.  Narcissa smiled sensuously, and then turned her attention back to the headmaster.

After that episode Lucius waited for an opportunity to accost her.  But she was never alone!  Did she not tire of the throng of students following her every move?  One pupil in particular was grating on Lucius' nerves.  Barty Crouch Junior, he was clearly enamoured with her.  This in itself was not what annoyed Lucius, what annoyed him was the fact that he'd noticed! 

The night drew on; the band got ready to play a few last raucous songs before the ballads and most people filled the dance floor.  Lucius noticed Narcissa finally slip out of Barty's clutches and outside into the cool night air.  Sneakily he left Isabelle alone and followed.

It was colder than he'd expected outside.  Narcissa was rubbing her bare arms to ward off the chill.  She was looking out over the lake, and it was clear to him that she thought she was alone; he watched her shoulders slump ever so slightly, and a distracted sigh escaped her lips.

"Got your eye on anyone else?" asked Lucius mercilessly.  He stepped out of the shadows and revealed his presence.  Narcissa tensed visibly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she replied coolly.

"I mean Barty of course.  Did you drop your books in front of him too?" he added with a smirk.  She turned on him sharply.

"I- You- Ooh!" she stammered idiotically, momentary unable to defend herself.  "You weren't the only one in the corridor that day you know!" she eventually spat.

"No that's true," smiled Lucius, "but if you'd intended to impress Lestrange I should tell you he's already taken."

"Lestrange?" she mumbled.

"The other man I was with," remarked Lucius helpfully.  "Unless you had designs on my father?  In that case I should warn you that I have no desire to have you as my step-mother."  He mocked her ruthlessly.

"I think you underestimate me," she said stiltedly.  He could see that it was costing her a great deal to control her temper.  He wanted her to lose it.

"Do you?" he raised a curious eyebrow.  "Well perhaps you underestimate me too.  So you know what I'll do?"  She shook her head, despite herself.  "I'll give you some very good advice," he offered.

"Go on then?" Narcissa challenged him.

"Stay away from me."  

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and then peered up at him through the dim light.

"I don't think you really want that," she refuted carefully.

"I didn't say it was what I wanted.  I said it was good advice."

"And you should have followed it, Narcissa," muttered Lucius to himself, just as he began to contemplate finishing work for the day.  

His eyes were resting on the little scribbled note.  The memory of Isabelle, of holding a woman other than his wife, of her scent intoxicating him, was suddenly as vivid as if it had happen only the day before.  He picked up the note, slowly reread it and then crushed it in his hand.

Unknown to Lucius, at precisely this moment Narcissa was once again stepping outside their house to the grounds beyond.

She didn't walk down to the river, as she had done the day before, instead she walked to west of the Manor, into one of the formal gardens.  The geometrically shaped flowerbeds were rich in colour, but the late afternoon light muted some of their radiance.  A tall privet hedge skirted the neat maze of flowerbeds, bathing everything in even darker shadows.  

In the very centre of this little garden was a water fountain.  Its once white stone was grey with age and the mermaid centrepiece covered in moss.  Narcissa took a seat on a cold stone bench before it, watching and listening to the running water.  If she concentrated, and banished all other thoughts from her mind, she could manipulate its flow.

A door opened and then banged shut.  Swift steps crunched along the gravel paths towards her.  She kept her eyes on the fountain and refused to stand, although her concentration was broken.

"Narcissa we have a perfectly good house!  Why do I never find you inside it when I get home from work?" snapped Lucius.  He stabbed at the ground with his ebony cane.

"Perhaps I am avoiding you," she remarked mildly.  This comment didn't seem to annoy Lucius, as she had intended, for he almost smiled and then sat down beside her.

"Do you know what I learnt today?  Only that Arthur Weasley-"

"You're not going to ask me about her are you?" Narcissa interrupted him in disbelief.  He turned away from his wife and scowled at the fountain. 

"That would imply I care, and you know I do not." 

"This is my _mother_ we are talking about, Lucius!  She won't let the healers treat her!"  Narcissa glared at her husband.  She was completely riled, not because she had suddenly had an attack of conscience, but because of his complete lack of respect for her family.

"You know I hate being reminded of your connections."

"Then it should please you to know that she's dying!" Narcissa shot irately.  Pure silence on his part followed her outburst.  "Well?!" she snarled, unable to take his lack of response.

"I thought it might be a little insensitive to agree," he remarked watching her reaction closely.

"Lucius!"

"Don't yell for the whole of Gloucestershire to here, Narcissa.  It's so common," he berated her.  "What is she dying of then?" he asked standing up.

"I…don't know," Narcissa faltered.

"I can see why you reprimanded me, you obviously care for her a great deal!" laughed Lucius cruelly.  "Why _is_ she refusing treatment, or is that a foolish question?"

"What do you mean?" asked Narcissa carefully, she had calmed down somewhat and already regretted her undignified outburst; she needed control of the situation.

"She's finally seen the error of her ways?" he asked disdainfully.

"I think she still loves my father, if that is what you're alluding to, she just can't stand to live with him any longer.  To live at all it would seem." 

"You're family is severely twisted," he said shaking his head.  No doubt wondering if she too was 'infected'.

"'People in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones,'" Narcissa quoted the proverb shrewdly.

"I suppose you're still the only heiress?" he asked, neatly ignoring her barbed retort. 

"And?"

"And you stand to inherit everything, no?" he turned back to her.

"You forget my father is still alive.  The only thing my mother has is," she stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes wide.  How had she forgotten!

"The le Fay jewel," he finished helpfully.  "Priceless, isn't it?" he asked mildly.

"I don't think it would suit you, Lucius," remarked Narcissa sarcastically.  

She stood up, brushed down her skirt and tried to saunter passed him, but Lucius wasn't prepared to just let her escape.  He caught her firmly by the arm, not roughly enough to hurt her, yet she drew a sharp breath as if in pain.

"What's wrong?" he demanded astutely watching her through narrowed eyes.  She shrugged the arm her father had bruised out of his grasp.

"I couldn't tell you, Lucius," she said innocently.  "Possibly the same thing that is wrong with your hand," she added glancing at his gloved fist, which hid the bandage that was wrapped around his own wound.

She made to move passed him again, and this time he let her walk by.  Narcissa could practically hear the whirring of his mind as he fought to solve the riddle she'd set for him.   She briefly wondered if she'd be able to reach the house before he managed it.

"You saw your father too, didn't you?" he shouted after her, following her back to the Manor as he did so.

"Don't yell, Lucius.  It's so common," she imitated him mockingly.  She had stopped walking, and stood in the entrance to the garden.

"Keep pushing, Narcissa!  One day you'll cross the line!" he snarled, as he levelled with her.  "Well?!"

"It's fine, I dealt with it," said Narcissa calmly, very pleased to have regained her composure while causing her husband to lose his so spectacularly.

"How?" he demanded.  She smiled up at him openly.  "What did you do, Narcissa?" he pressed, and there was a slightly uneasy edge to the tone of his voice.

"It was just a little curse," she simpered mildly, enjoying the power she suddenly had over him.

"_Which_ one?"

"The Cruciatus one," she said simply, watching his reaction though veiled eyes.  How would he take the news that his wife had cast an illegal spell on her father?  He swore violently, and then turned away from her and the house.  "Where are you going?" she sighed.

"To clean up your mess!  Do you know what this could do to us if it got out?"

"He's my father!  It's my problem.  _I_ will take care it!" refuted Narcissa coldly.  

"Your past record goes against you," Lucius argued callously and, with that obscure allusion to their past spoken, he Disapparated.

Narcissa stared at the empty spot, where just a few seconds earlier her husband had been standing.  She shook her head and sighed in resignation.  Was that a win or a loss on her part?

"Suit yourself, Lucius.  You usually do."

-


	9. Chapter Nine: Past Testimony

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.

Tainted Love****

Chapter Nine: Past Testimony

Cotehele House had been the seat of the Varvara family since the beginning of the sixteenth century.  In the failing light Lucius looked up at its granite and slate walls, but very little could be read from his self-possessed stance.  The riverside estate sat on the edge of the Cornish border, a place so deeply steeped in folklore, myth and Arthurian legend that the magic of this forgotten county was at times still strong enough for even Muggles to feel.  

Thick woodland, and somewhere in the distance an old canal, encircled the house.  No doubt growing up amid such natural beauty had some bearing on why Narcissa had always had such an obvious weakness for the Manor's extensive grounds.  She was a country girl at heart; towns and cities held few temptations for her.  

Lucius gazed at the shadow of what had once been a great house.  Narcissa hadn't visited Cotehele for years; it was only bricks and mortar, why should she care for it at all?  Something told him she probably would, and he was actually glad that his wife wasn't there to see what had become of her childhood home.  Nevertheless Lucius quickly shrugged off this rare flicker of empathy.  

Cotehele was falling into disrepair.  Weeds choked the gardens and the large buildings themselves appeared to be slowly decaying, seeping slowly back into the ground.  Windows were broken, but few were actually boarded up, like blinded eyes they stared out, unseeing, onto the ruined grounds around them.  

Narcissa's grandfather had been an inventor of national renown.  He had revolutionised the Silver Arrows racing broom line, which had been where he had made his money.  Adrian did not share his father's talent for creation, or his prudent manner.  By the time Narcissa came to marry most of the Varvara family fortune had been squandered by her father, usually on risky enterprises that rarely had the slightest chance of success!

A stone path led up to the house.  It was covered by a few searching tendrils that were creeping from wild blackberry bushes.  Lucius walked smartly up to the front door and rapped the top of his cane against the rotting wood.  He waited only a short time before trying the handle.  To his disbelief the door swung inwards without protest.  Lucius hesitated only a moment before stepping into the gloomy interior.  He strolled into the main hall.  Behind him light slunk into the high-ceilinged room through cobwebs and the broken glass.  One of the first things to strike Lucius was a huge family tree written painstakingly on yellowing parchment.  He had seen it before, when Cotehele had still glittered and shone.  It covered the full length of one wall from ceiling to floor, but strangely it was not the Varvara dynasty.  

At the very top, so high it was almost unreadable, sat a name that was greatly coveted by wizard families worldwide - Morgan le Fay - an enchantress and healer, sister and bane of King Arthur, and the ruler of ancient Avalon.   Lucius ran his sharp eyes over the paper; it was Narcissa's ancestry.  Her mother could trace her family's lineage all the way back to Arthurian times, to the greatest families of that age.  Narcissa was a descendent of one of the oldest, noblest, pureblood families.  The ancestry on the wall was unusual, in that it passed down from mother to daughter, and ended, and would forever end, with the name of his wife.

Lucius envied his wife's pedigree.  By marrying her he had refined the Malfoy line, but it was still irksome to think that her blood may be a little purer than his own!  His envy was only slight.  Narcissa could never claim to have married beneath herself; the Malfoy line was just as old as the le Fay's.  Lucius nurtured a pleasant tingle of spite; over the centuries the le Fay dynasty had gradually fallen in rank.  They had descended into the company of such families as the Varvara's, losing affluence and influence, but never ever respect or integrity, while the Malfoy line had steadily increased in wealth, power and status. 

Turning away from the scroll-like genealogy Lucius walked further into the house.  It was cold inside Cotehele.  An unhealthy dampness had crept into the very heart of the building.  A line of candelabra lit the dark, narrow corridors, but did little to add any cheer or warmth.  Lucius followed them steadily as the portraits on the walls pointed and hissed at him, but none dared speak loudly enough for him to hear their exact words.  He could guess their gist.  

A sardonic smile lifted one corner of his mouth.  Ah yes, of course _he_ was to blame.  He had shackled Narcissa to the Malfoys; he had dragged her down from the heavens.  It was so very easy to believe in the innocence of beauty!  Perversely, while he despised this condemnation, he would have liked to take credit for crafting the darkness in her soul.

Back at the Manor, Narcissa was not hungry.  She had left the gardens soon after Lucius and retreated inside, but instead of calling Draco for dinner she made her way into the small study.  It was her sanctuary, her refuge.  The fireplace seemed to smirk as these thoughts tried to comfort her.  Narcissa smiled without pleasure, no it was not her sanctuary; it was her station and she was its guard.  A strange duty she had taken upon herself.  

She sat stiffly in the window seat, facing into the room.  Lucius had revealed the hidden vault to her shortly after their marriage.  Narcissa pursed her lips thoughtfully, he must have been _very_ sure of her!  She could have still betrayed him then.  

Rarely did she venture down into the basement.  It was Lucius' territory, and she respected that; she had the gardens after all.  But there was still something of her down there in the darkness.   Belongings and secrets, deeds and temptations…  Narcissa slowly rose to her feet.  Perhaps she needn't sit here and wait, and again play the part of the passive observer?  Her feet carried her instinctively to the fireplace.  The grate wasn't lit, but she ran her suddenly hungry eyes over its tempting form.

"_Alere Flammas_," she whispered, with the slightest air of hesitation.  

The hearth gave up its secret to her, and the hidden vault opened grindingly.  Narcissa caught up her skirt resolutely and descended into the gloom below.  The darkness didn't bother her much, and although she didn't like the damp, unkempt dreariness of the place she could just about bear it.  'It was…atmospheric, after all!' she reasoned with a small disdainful smile.

She didn't bother to draw her wand; the torches had erupted on her arrival and were tinged with a peculiar green glow.  The little ghost girl scurried fretfully out of Narcissa's path as she made her way deeper into the labyrinth.  She didn't travel as far as Lucius had, unknown to her, the night before.  Instead she veered to the right and stopped in front of a set of dusty wooden shelves.  She licked her lips and strained to see in the poor light for a little while, before whipping out her rosewood wand.

"_Lumos_," she said softly.  

Her voice echoed eerily around the vast, twisting chamber, which was suddenly bathed in a silvery, iridescent light.  She continued her search, and quickly found what it was that she was looking for; her fingers closed around a little velvet jewellery box.  Narcissa picked it up and moved it into the wand light, she flipped open the lid and looked inside.  There on the black cushioned inlay sat a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from a very fine gold chain.  Narcissa picked up the Time-Turner tentatively.  Should she use it?  Her search had given her time to reflect.  The day had affected her more than she was willing to admit, she was acting erratically.  

Again she looked down at the delicate magical instrument.  She could go back in time and stop herself cursing her father… No, as soon as this thought entered her head she banished it.  She couldn't change history, and more importantly she didn't wish to.  But she could go back and follow her father, find out where he was now and what Lucius was doing to him…  No, she could have gone with Lucius; he wouldn't have stopped her.

"He probably would have liked the opportunity to show off!" she said aloud, to no one in particular.  

The curious, wispy figure of the little ghost girl glanced at her reproachfully.  Narcissa snapped the lid shut and put the Time-Turner back down on a cluttered shelf.  The Time-Turner was hers.  That pleased her, and annoyed Lucius.  Little things gave her solace.

"Strange, isn't it?" she mused.  The ghostly child cocked her head and listened, Narcissa indulged her audience.  "Deep down, I know he is right, I know he has only gone to protect us, and yet all I can do is hate him for undermining me."  She smiled a little, as if understanding this fact had soothed her mind.

Lucius had followed the candlelight all the way to what he knew to be the drawing room.  The door to this room was open and a pale flickering light bathed the interior in a weak, sickly glow.

"How dare you enter this house!" breathed a frail voice from inside the shadowy room.  

Lucius was momentarily surprised, but of course it would have been easy for Mr Varvara to hear him walking through the empty corridors. 

"What was that, Adrian?" smiled Lucius insolently.  He stepped into the room.  Mr Varvara was sat, rather hunched, in a high-backed armchair, his wand was pointed squarely at Lucius' chest, but his hand was trembling very slightly. 

"You're not welcome here, Malfoy!" he snarled.

"Have I ever been welcome here?" drawled Lucius sarcastically.  He dragged a gloved finger through the dust on the mantelpiece, his father-in-law watched, bristling with anger.

"You'll never get your hands on Cotehele!  I'll see to that!"

"Why would I want anything to do with such a decrepit estate?" sneered Lucius, brushing the dirt off his hands.  Adrian Varvara flushed a nasty colour.  He seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?  I haven't had the displeasure of your company for years," he spat.  "Or have you come to finish me off?" 

"I think you know the answer to that," Lucius replied in a light tone of voice that did not match the intensity of his eyes.  "I don't think you would have let me stroll straight into your home if you'd believed for one minute that I was here to kill you."

"My daughter's still got you wrapped around her little finger then?" laughed Adrian Varvara maliciously.  A muscle twitched in Lucius' jaw.  "Bitch!" Adrian suddenly swore reminiscently.  "She tried to kill me today!  You think I'll forget that in a hurry?!" he threatened.

"You would be dead if she had meant to kill you," countered Lucius evenly.

"So I should be thankful she merely crippled me?" roared Mr Varvara.  He drew a few heavy, composing breaths.  "You shouldn't have sided with her, because one day Malfoy, you and I," he motioned between himself and his son-in-law with his wand, "well, one of us will have to finish off the other."

"Oh I quite agree," breathed Lucius disinterestedly.  Exactly why that should be, was not explained by either man at that moment.

"And I already have a head start," murmured Mr Varvara, but Lucius was paying little heed to his words.  He was watching his father-in-law loosen his grip on his wand, leaving it to rest on the padded arm of his chair.  "So, what _do_ you want?

"You upset my wife today," remarked Lucius blandly. 

"She was _my_ daughter long before she had anything to do with you!" spat Mr Varvara.

"An unfortunate fact that I strive not to hold against her."

"She should never have married you!"

"No," smiled Lucius, "she ruined your plans didn't she?  Your great Ministry ambitions quashed," he paused.  "It would have been so much easier for you if she had married Crouch.  You could have used him to finally claw your way out of your own father's shadow, but let's be honest, it wasn't much of a shadow to begin with, was it?"

"You bas-"

"Careful," breathed Lucius, "or would you like another lesson in pain?"

Adrian Varvara blanched as he remembered with sudden vivacity what his daughter had put him through that afternoon.  He clutched at his wand in vain, because all he managed to do in his frantic, panicky state was to knock it onto the floor.  Lucius gave him a quelling look as he drew his own wand.   

"_Crucio_!"

This time the old man did manage to scream.  His blood-curdling cry filled the whole house as his body slid off the chair and onto the cold floor.  Lucius broke the spell; his face was set in a stony mask of resolve.  

"You may have forgotten Adrian, but I have not.  You see I remember what you did to me twelve years ago," he hissed, his eyes burning with unquenchable hatred.  He raised his wand again.  "_Obliviate_!"

Narcissa paced the sumptuous living room.  What was taking Lucius so long?  He wouldn't do anything too drastic, would he?  She knew he hated her father, and with good reason.  Narcissa didn't flatter herself; she didn't dare suppose her husband's hatred had anything to do with her.  She didn't believe that the fact her father had regularly beaten her to within an inch of her life was the kind of thing that rattled Lucius.  

What enraged Lucius was the fact that it had been Adrian Varvara's testimony that had sent him to Azkaban.  He could not bear to think that a man he considered so far beneath himself had managed to outsmart him!

But the fact Adrian Varvara was still alive _did_ have something to do with his daughter.  Soon after her marriage Narcissa had realised that to kill her father would leave a huge hole in her life, to snuff out the root of so much hatred, what would she have left?  It hadn't mattered much to Lucius at first, but then Adrian had gone and crossed his son-in-law!

It hadn't been easy to make Lucius swear not to murder her father, but after his eventual release from the widely feared wizard prison he had had immense cause to be grateful to his wife.  Narcissa sometimes wondered what other promises she could have held him to; it was a strange quirk of her husband's, but once genuinely given he found it almost painful to break his word.

So where was he now?  Narcissa sat down and then stood straight back up.  She let him get inside her head far too often!  She left the living room, once again thinking longingly about the Time-Turner, but instead of going back to the small study she made her way to the main staircase and couldn't help recalling how the wondrous little thing had come into her possession to start with…

…She had felt literally sick with worry - pacing the corridors, lingering in the Slytherin common room, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Severus unseen.  He seemed to be purposefully avoiding her!

In a few short days she was supposed to meet Lord Voldemort for the very first time, but at exactly the same moment she was due to take her NEWT potions exam!  Missing a personal engagement with the Dark Lord was unthinkable, but slipping out of Hogwarts under the nose of Albus Dumbledore was no easy feat either!

It was after midnight, Narcissa was sitting alone in the Slytherin common room, pouring over her Charms notes.  She looked up with a slight start as the hidden stone door that led into the common room slid open.

"I need your help," she blurted out at the pupil who'd just slunk into the chamber.  Severus Snape stared jadedly at Narcissa.  

"Yes," he said slowly.  "I know."

"Well, how am I going to sneak out without Dumbledore knowing?" she demanded, with almost hysterical nervousness.

"That is the wrong question.  The question is: how are you going to be in two places at once?"  Narcissa frowned in confusion.  Severus sighed impatiently.  "You can't miss your exam, that would be far too suspicious."

"All right," agreed Narcissa slowly.  All her ill formed plans had been based around this idea, now she was forced to contemplate a whole new scheme.  "Well if you're willing to help me now," she began acidly.  "I read something about a potion," she mumbled, pushing her notes aside she reached for one of her textbooks, which she began to flick through.  "It gives the drinker the physical form of another I think-"

"I'm not taking your exam for you," Severus snapped sharply.  "Besides the Polyjuice potion takes a month to brew."

Narcissa looked up from the thick book.

"How do you know that?" she exclaimed.  "It's not normal!"

"Remind me, why am I helping you?" snarled the boy.

"Who else would finance your little schemes?" Narcissa asked sweetly.  Severus sat down in a leather armchair and glared viciously at her.  "So are you going to help or not?" she demanded.

Unwillingly Severus took a little black box out of his pocket and threw it roughly at Narcissa.  She caught it awkwardly and then stared at it in surprise.

"What-"

"Open it," he ordered brusquely.  

She obeyed.  Hanging from a very long, delicate gold chain was what appeared to be a miniature, glistening hourglass.  Narcissa fingered it uncertainly.

"Is that a-a Time-Turner?" she stammered glancing at Severus.  He nodded.  "I thought the Ministry kept close tabs on them all!  How did you get hold of it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Just one of my _little schemes_," he sneered unpleasantly.  "Wear it like a necklace, take your potions exam as normal, then turn it twice, you'll travel back in time just far enough to make your meeting with the Dark Lord.  You'll need to get yourself to Hogsmeade; someone will be waiting for you in the Hog's Head."  Severus hissed all of these instructions in a very low very fast voice.

Narcissa gave one little stilted nod; a lump had formed in her throat making it difficult to speak.   Excitement was turning slowly to apprehension, what exactly was she getting involved in?

Narcissa shrugged off the memory and pushed open the door to her son's room a fraction.  It was later than she'd thought, time had a cruel way of toying with her sometimes.  The darkness of the room told her that Draco had already gone to sleep.  She noticed that the mound in the centre of his bed was slowly rising and falling in the gentle state of slumber.

She had told the cook to send him up something for supper and she really hoped he'd done some of the homework that she had asked him to start.  Perhaps tomorrow she would check.  Narcissa closed the door with a gentle click and felt the air in the house stir.  Her heart gave a funny little skip.  She moved quickly along the dusky passageway and caught Lucius walking up the stairs.

"What did you do?" she asked immediately.  Lucius looked up with a start.  He seemed almost surprised to see her.

"I merely modified his memory," he said easily, stopping where he was, which was halfway up the stairs.  Narcissa narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You took your time."

"Were you worried?" he laughed mockingly as he climbed the rest of the steps.  "I think I can handle your father."

"He's tricky, Lucius," said Narcissa seriously.  "I can't understand how he found me in the first place."

"Your mother?" shrugged Lucius carelessly as he stifled a yawn.

"She wouldn't have known where to send him," argued Narcissa.  She wished that she could make him take this matter seriously without embarrassing herself.

"Well, perhaps someone was following you," he smirked at her.

"You may well laugh-"

"I just don't see the point in worrying about it," he replied lazily, but then he seemed to actually stop and look at Narcissa.  "He still frightens you, doesn't he?" Lucius asked, his voice low.  Narcissa froze.  She felt like all the breath had been stolen from her lungs, she was barely aware of his arms closing around her, or the way his chin was suddenly resting on the crown of her head.  "Let me take care of him for you?" he whispered, his breath stirring her hair.

"No," she murmured.

"He's still hurting you."

"No," she said again, this time her voice was just a little stronger.  "That has nothing to do with your thirst for revenge."

Lucius stayed silent for a surprisingly long length of time.  Narcissa concentrated on glaring at his chest.  Did he really think she would just crumble and give in?  Something brushed against the top of her hair.  His chin, not his lips, _not_ his lips, she argued before hearing him say softly:

"You're a harsh judge, Narcissa."

-


	10. Chapter Ten: Voldemort & Varvara

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.

Tainted Love****

Chapter Ten: Voldemort & Varvara

****

Trapped in the abyss of the soulless night Narcissa knew that she was dreaming.  Her eyes were shut tight, against her will as if locked, yet some part of her was still aware of the solidity of the bed beneath her, of the softness of the pillow cradling her head.  She held her breath.  It was such a very strange sensation, to be caught precariously between the conscious and unconscious - the lucid dream.  She could feel herself falling into darkness.  Everything solid, everything real was slowly slipping out of her grasp.  But as always, she was unable to fight the sinister lure of the beings hidden in the shadows, just as she had been incapable of resisting their power as a girl.  

She did not want this dream!  Something within Narcissa screamed in dread.  She did not want to remember; she did not want the taste of fear and death to overcome her once again!

The feeling of panic only increased as she plunged deeper into the unforgiving blackness, leaving the waking world behind.  She reached out a hand, and someone held her, shielded and protected her.  Narcissa was never sure, this far ensnared, whether this consoling figure was real or just another dimension of the dream.  However, she was sure that it was Lucius, but a Lucius she had never known.  Perhaps he was merely a creation of her imagination, an ideal Lucius, the husband that she had been seeking but had never found?  He could not save her from the darkness, being also condemned, but he would not let her go.  

Narcissa breathed out, relaxed and resigned herself to the fact that the dream was unstoppable.  It would not help to fight; it never did.  Let Voldemort come, she was stronger, wiser, slyer, and no longer the young woman in the dream.

Narcissa Varvara walked out of her NEWT potions exam looking just as pale and nervous as she had when walking into examination room.  Seeing her distressed state Professor McGonagall actually stopped her in the corridor and told the Slytherin girl that she thought she ought to see the school's nurse.

"Why are you in such a state, Miss Varvara?" she sniffed.  "It's not as though you lack brains.  You always manage to scrape by somehow, although I'm quite sure you're not overexerting yourself with your studies."

"No, Professor," mumbled Narcissa meekly.

"For goodness sake, pull yourself together girl!" snapped McGonagall.  Narcissa frowned down at the stone floor beneath her feet.  At eighteen she hardly considered herself a 'girl' anymore!  "You're not pining over some young man are you?" she suddenly demanded with sharp suspicion.

"No!" exclaimed Narcissa aghast, flushing despite the truthfulness of her statement.  "I think-I think I might go and see the nurse after all, Professor," she said awkwardly, desperate to escape.

"Yes, you do look very peaky."

Narcissa nodded weakly and walked with somewhat of a droop in her shoulders until she was sure that she was out of Professor McGonagall's sight.

"Peaky!" Narcissa exclaimed angrily her grey eyes flashed.  "I'd love to see how well _she_ looked if she was about to-" sensibly she stopped her verbal tirade right there.  One never knew who was listening to you in Hogwarts.  

Narcissa had decided to take her Time-Turner into the girls' bathroom on the first floor and use it there; they were normally out of order, and besides no one ever used them so she wouldn't possibly be caught.  She pushed open the creaky door to the bathroom, glanced around to check that no one was watching her and then ducked inside.

"You again!" shrieked a shrill voice.

Narcissa groaned and turned to face the squat ghost of a girl.  Her miserable face was half hidden behind a curtain of limp hair and large glasses.

"Quiet Myrtle, or I'll flush you down a toilet!" snarled Narcissa.  

Moaning Myrtle, a deceased student, sobbed hysterically, and then with a high-pitched wail dove down the plughole of one of the chipped enamel sinks.  Very glad to be rid of her, Narcissa stepped into one of the cubicles and pulled the glittering Time-Turner out from under the neck of her robes. 

She stared at it uncertainly.  A tap was dripping persistently and each drop seemed to add a tiny weight to the heavy wriggling mass that was residing in the pit of her stomach.

"Turn this and that's it," she whispered to herself, holding the Time-Turner between her thumb and forefinger.  "It's time to put some of your fine words into action," Narcissa told herself harshly.  With a resolute nod and a deep breath she turned the tiny little hourglass over twice.

The bathroom melted away.  Narcissa felt as though she was being pulled backwards at great speed, the pressure made her ears pop.  A kaleidoscope of colours and shapes blurred her vision.  She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying out – 

And then the world stopped spinning.  Dizzily Narcissa stumbled forwards, into the wooden door of the cubicle.  Everything looked exactly the same!  What had gone wrong?  She raised a shaky hand to her mouth and wiped away the blood that she had drawn.  What was she going to do now?  Her heart was beating extremely fast and rather irregularly as she pushed open the door and step out into the bathroom.

"Who are you?" snivelled a horribly familiar voice.  "How dare you sneak into my bathroom?"

Narcissa frowned at Moaning Myrtle, who was sitting on top of one of the cisterns glowering at her.

"You just spoke to me as I walked in," she argued slowly.

"No I didn't!" screeched Myrtle.  "Nasty, mean students!  Always bullying poor Myrtle, just because I'm ugly and stupid and d-dead!" she sobbed tearfully.

Strangely, Narcissa suddenly beamed up at the ghost.  It had worked!  It must have done, that was why Myrtle didn't remember talking to her; she hadn't done so yet!  She left Myrtle muttering dolefully to herself and slipped out into the corridor.

From the quiet, desolate state of the castle Narcissa guessed that it was well before breakfast time.  She hugged her black school cloak tightly about her, and moving like a shadow in a dream she crept through the sleeping castle.  What she was doing was forbidden, wicked…exhilarating.  She felt an unprecedented sense of freedom and empowerment.  With a definite touch of arrogance she felt her fears die away.  She marched outside onto the grounds with her head held high; there was no one to see her, she was not going to slink around like a common criminal!  

She had been wondering if there were any special enchantments around Hogwarts' grounds to stop pupils from leaving.  Perhaps an alarm would go off and wake up the whole school, or she might be transfigured into a frog, or suddenly become covered in boils?  A number of horrible scenarios occurred to Narcissa, but when she stepped out of the gates, which weren't even locked, nothing happened.  She relaxed a little more after that, and walked the rest of the way to Hogsmeade with a definite spring in her step.  

By the time Narcissa was standing outside of the Hog's Head all of her optimism had vanished.  The door was locked.  Maybe she was early?  Maybe she was late!  The coil of nervous tension in her stomach returned tenfold.  She was silently cursing Severus for his pathetic instructions, and trying to decide whether or not it was safe to knock, when the door opened and someone dragged her roughly inside.

Narcissa tried to reach for her wand, but found that the man had her arms pinned down by her sides.

"You the girl?" he demanded.  His voice was very low and gravelly.  Narcissa couldn't see anything of his face; it was hidden beneath a heavy black hooded cloak. "Here," he snarled, shoving a similar cloak at Narcissa as he released her, "put this on." 

She obeyed, trying not to cough on the day-old smoke that seemed to fill the empty pub.  She was alone in a world unknown to her, but her mother had taught her to mask such fear well, indeed to mask all emotions from the naked eye.   She straightened her back and lifted her chin, and once concealed by the cloak she felt some of her composure return.  The man seemed agitated she noticed, which actually made her feel a little calmer.

"Come on," he said gruffly.  He caught Narcissa by the arm and marched her through the deserted, squalid pub to a dingy backroom.

There was a table in the middle of the room and on the table lay a silver ring.  Drawn inexplicably to the object Narcissa moved passed the man to get a better look.  On closer inspection she saw that it was actually a little coiled snake, hewn from a spiral of strangely iridescent metal.

"It's a Portkey," stated the unnamed man.

Narcissa nodded in silent understanding, so they were going to use this to reach Lord Voldemort.  There was no more room for doubt.  She waited to be told when to touch the snake, but the man seemed to be too preoccupied to remember this instruction. Had Narcissa not had the presence of mind to reach forward with her fingertips at exactly the same time as the wizard, she would have been left behind.  And her life may have been very different…

It happened instantly: the sensation was not dissimilar to what Narcissa had experienced when using the Time-Turner, except this time she was dragged forwards instead of backwards.  Her stomach somersaulted.  It felt like she was plunging from a great height, almost as if she had just fallen from a broomstick.  She closed her eyes until she felt her feet slam into solid ground.  

Dully she noticed that they were now standing in the basin of a great valley.  Sheer rocky cliffs encircled the vale, but few plants, bar a forest of dead, gnarled trees, graced their slopes and as Narcissa cast her eye up she realised uneasily that there was no path to be found leading either in or out of the stagnant dale.  A new presence by her side suddenly caught her attention and made her skin prickle.

"Miss Varvara, welcome."

If Narcissa could have made a sound she would have screamed.  It was not a man standing before her, but a demon in human form!  His pasty head seemed too large for his thin, skeletal body.  Red slits of eyes bore into the void of her hood.  He seemed to be caught in the middle of some grotesque transformation.  The man who had brought Narcissa into the depths of this nightmare bowed to the repulsive figure.

"My Lord," he said, in his deep, gravelly voice.

Lord Voldemort turned his bloody gaze from Narcissa to the wizard.

"We are nearly ready for you, but you have a little time left.  I wish to speak to our newest confederate."

With a second sycophantic bow the man left them.  Narcissa wanted to reach out and stop him, to pull him back, to beg him not to leave her alone with this…thing!

"Come, Narcissa."  Voldemort spoke her name, accentuating the hiss of its letters.  "Today you are safe, you are my guest here."  He offered her a claw-like hand.  Somehow she conquered her revulsion and managed to take it, though touching him was like touching ice.

He started to walk, and for the first time Narcissa began to notice the world around her in more detail.  The sky above them was a deep unhealthy purple, like bruised skin, and although she hadn't been aware of it at first they were actually walking across the centre of some sort of pagan circle.  It was formed from giant granite pillars, but she couldn't see out of the circle and along the bottom of the vale; black fire blocked every crude archway, but then where had the man gone?  Where were they going?

"Do not try to understand."  She started.  Lord Voldemort seemed amused.  "You do not like me inside your head, but you will get used to it."

They kept walking, although the long distance did not correlate with the apparent small size of the circle, but then neither did the stone throne-like chairs that were suddenly before them.  

Distortion, Narcissa reasoned, very grand, elaborate, difficult magic, but magic nonetheless which she could explain and understand.

"Sit," commanded Voldemort.  Narcissa sat, relieved to be able to escape his grasping clutches.  "Now lower you hood."  She hesitated.  "Lower it," he repeated and this time she obeyed.  His red, ember-like eyes watched her frozen, alabaster face.  "Who could ever suspect such an angel?  Now your arm," he continued.  Again Narcissa obeyed, it was a wonderful feeling – not having to think for herself, to just do what she was told.  He caught her wrist and pulled back her sleeve.  "We shall wait and see if you earn my Mark."

"My Lord?"  Narcissa blinked as she listened to the first words that she had spoken, her voice sounded much older.

"No, ask what you really want to know."

"It was you who helped me during the Decaduel, wasn't it?" she said quietly.

"Naturally." 

"Why?  Why am I here, my Lord?" asked Narcissa cautiously. 

"Because I may find a use for you.  Your friend, young Mr Snape told me how you attacked your father.  He told me how you found out about the Imperius curse, how you used it on your mother one night while your parents were sleeping, how you very nearly gained control over her for long enough to have her murder your father for you."

"But it did not work," stated Narcissa bitterly.  The sting of failure was still fresh in her mind.

"Yet she did not suspect you, did she?  She thought it all a dream," he said softly.  "You are cunning, and you harbour great hatred Narcissa, but you do not yet have a worthy purpose – I will try to change that.  But today you are here to witness something which few have seen."  Narcissa lifted one apprehensive eyebrow.  "Raise your hood."

As she did this Lord Voldemort clapped his hands.  The dark fires vanished, revealing the whole of the valley, and a group of men, and possibly some women, in black cloaks entered the stone circle.  Two figures walked slightly ahead of the rest.  A sense of sudden foreboding overcame Narcissa and she turned her masked face to the Dark Lord.

"The most loyal, the most powerful of my followers are hand picked, but for them to become true Death Eaters there is a little test," said Voldemort proudly, his red eyes glowed eagerly.  "You have heard of Avada Kedavra, the killing curse?" 

"Yes, my Lord," breathed Narcissa, her mouth very dry.

"There is no counter curse, but it does take a wizard with extremely strong magical power to cast it.  Now, my two followers there," he indicated to the two wizards walking slightly apart from the approaching crowd with a wave of his bony hand, "will attempt to perform this curse."

"On who?" Narcissa whispered curiously.

"Why, on each other of course!" laughed Voldemort.

"But they'll both be killed!" exclaimed Narcissa rashly.

"No, only one of them shall die today.  They will take it in turns to cast their spells.  Of course, whoever goes first has a distinct advantage."  His face broke into what could only be described as a smile, Narcissa was glad the hood hid her own expression repulsion.

"But my Lord, if they are both your followers-" she began, trying to understand, but he did not let her finish.

"A waste yes, but we must refine the purity of magic, mustn't we?"

Narcissa dropped her head in a weak nod as the group of wizards finally reached them.  He was mad, but she had never dared dream of power such as his!  Lord Voldemort stood, Narcissa kept her face averted, she was about to watch someone die, a thrill shot through her body.

"You are ready?"

"Yes, my Lord," one of the two replied.  Narcissa jerked her head up; it was the same gruff voice of the man who had met her at the Hog's Head!

"Now," Lord Voldemort suddenly turned back to Narcissa.  "Who should go first?" he asked calmly.  She froze.  "Have a little taste of the power you crave."

Narcissa felt the weight of every unseen face turn to her, and she didn't dislike it.  She didn't consider not choosing, she only considered how to pick.  She knew one man, however slightly, while the other she did not know at all.  She raised a hand and pointed to the gravelly voiced wizard.  Voldemort nodded:

"So be it."

"My Lord," bowed the man Narcissa had just condemned.  

She felt a lance pierce her heart as that familiar cool drawl caressed her ears.  Perhaps it was not quite so dispassionate in that instance?  Before she knew it she was on her feet.

"Now, now," jeered Voldemort, he glanced mockingly at her.  "We cannot change our mind."

Narcissa sank back down onto the cold seat.  No!  She could not have just sentenced Lucius Malfoy to death!  It could not be Lucius, she tried to tell herself, she must have been mistaken, she couldn't possibly tell from only two words!  But Narcissa couldn't believe her own argument.

The crowd of cloaked wizards formed a ring around the two combatants.  She'd kill the man herself, vowed Narcissa recklessly!  If he murdered Lucius he was as good as dead.  Voldemort took a seat beside his guest.  She felt her fear and horror drain away, to be replaced by white molten rage.  She was a pawn in a game no one had told her she was playing!

"Interesting," Voldemort hissed by her side.  Her eyes flickered towards him, they met his searing gaze, but she did not recoil.  "You cannot lie to Lord Voldemort, I know all.  I see why you favour him and if he dies you have already thought about killing his opponent.  I like that, such unbridled fury."

Narcissa refused to be baited.  She kept her eyes locked on the man she believed to be Lucius and willed him to survive without knowing why the prospect of his death terrified her so much.  The gravelly voiced wizard drew out his wand from under his cloak.  He was taking so long!  His hand seemed to be shaking as he tried to get the angle of his wrist just right.  Lucius simply stood and waited patiently for death.  Narcissa couldn't bear to watch any longer; she felt so very young all of a sudden.  She hung her head and stared blankly at her lap just before a voice in front of her spoke the words she was dreading:

"_Avada Kedavra_."

A blinding flash of green light stung her eyes followed by an explosion of shattering noise.  Narcissa didn't know if she dared raise her gaze.

"Excellent, Lucius."

At those words Narcissa's eyes did fly up and she very nearly stopped breathing.  The man Lord Voldemort had just confirmed to be Lucius Malfoy was still standing in the centre of the ring of dark wizards.  But the other man, the wizard she had met in the Hog's Head, was lying dead, completely unmarked, but dead, at Lucius Malfoy's feet.

"We don't follow rules here, even the one's we set ourselves," said Voldemort, facing Narcissa for a moment before turning back to Lucius.  "It is time."

Lucius Malfoy, still hooded and cloaked moved out of the circle and walked up to Lord Voldemort, who stood to greet him.  

"Your arm, Lucius," said the Dark Lord.  

Narcissa watched anxiously as Lucius bared his forearm.  She felt invisible; cloaked in darkness he didn't know who she was.  Voldemort drew his own wand for the first time and placed it against Lucius' skin.  She heard his sharp intake of breath as the Dark Mark was slowly burnt into his very skin.  She squirmed in her seat, sensing his pain, which had to be terrible; his arm muscles were tense and his fist was clenched so tightly that his nails must have been ripping into his palm, because a trickle of blood had seeped through his fingers and started to drip down to the ground.

So this was where Lucius Malfoy had pledged his allegiance.  He was bound unbreakably to the Dark Lord now, but Narcissa did not feel her desire for him waver.  She had glimpsed the world in which he lived and had not faltered.  Who now but she could ever hope to have even the smallest understanding of him?  Her soul, her sanity, her self; she would be a part of his life whatever it cost her!

Narcissa sat up with a jolt, although she did not seem to wake.  In the darkness Lucius' eyes shot open, it would have been hard to tell whether he had been asleep or not.  He held his sleeping wife and gently forced her to lie back down on the mattress.  The moonlight seeping through a crack in the curtains highlighted the dormant anguish in his eyes.

"It's all right," he murmured quietly.

Her breathing began to slow down; unbelievably she hadn't woken herself, only him.  He lay back down beside her, but kept his gaze on the dusky ceiling, although Narcissa lay on her side facing him.  She shifted slightly and rested her head on his shoulder; through sleep she found his forearm and held it in her grasp.  Wondering where the night had taken her this time Lucius stroked his wife's hair soothingly as his chest became damp with her silent tears.

He closed his eyes, even coupled with their torture he savoured these hours of darkness.  When the morning light rose with the dawn it would banish more than just the shadows.  The daytime was infinitely colder than the night for Lucius; walls between himself and his wife, which were hidden in the dark by veils of terror and lust, were revealed with painful clarity in the daylight hours.  Forever bound together and yet perpetually divided; that was how they were and how they would remain.

"Lucius?" Narcissa cried his name through the echoes of her nightmare.

"I'm here," he said, though he doubted she could hear.  "I shall always be here."

-


	11. Chapter Eleven: Family Blackmail

**Tainted Love**

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.

**Tainted Love**

**Chapter Eleven: Family Blackmail**

July was swept aside by August, banished to twelfth and last place in the calendar's annual race. The lazy summer days of this new month merged into one another almost indistinguishably, creating the illusion of a single, perpetual sun-filled season. For the Malfoys, within the haven of the Manor, nothing changed and little happened - on the surface at least, but beneath this sound façade a tremor had been felt and noted. The wheels of change were readying themselves to turn; Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban.

It was not fear that made Lucius pick up the Daily Prophet each breakfast-time without fail, nor panic that inspired Narcissa to check scrupulously through the newspaper, even after her husband had assured her that there was nothing of interest to them to be read between the printed lines. It was pure frustration. What _exactly_ was occurring out in the world without their knowledge?

Draco remained happily oblivious to his parents' vigilant efforts; their hushed whispers and furtive glances passed him by completely. He had his own schemes to attend, and he was just a little preoccupied by the end of the summer holidays looming into sight. In all honesty Draco could not say that he was sorry about the prospect of leaving the Manor and returning to Hogwarts, even though he blamed the school unreservedly for his fall from his parents' grace.

Two short weeks before the new term was due to begin Draco was wandering downstairs for a late breakfast pondering his indifference sleepily. He wasn't like other boys, he knew this – he was a Malfoy. It wasn't precisely that he didn't like being at the Manor, as eccentric as his life there was it was still his home, the only one he had ever known. It was just…he was rather untouched, unmoved by it all. He supposed he was complacent, that he took for granted all he had. This didn't worry him, but what did annoy him was the fact that the power he had at Hogwarts was stripped from him when he was at the Manor. At school he was a figure to be feared and respected, at home his parents stole those roles.

Draco pushed open the door to the dining room while staring down sulkily at his feet. A frown marred his features as he reasoned, and not for the first time, that at Hogwarts he could escape from his father's shadow, almost, for there was still Professor Snape to contend with.

He glanced up and stopped abruptly in the doorway of the room. His frown took on a confused air as he looked between his parents. He was rather surprised to find them both still there at such a late hour. Despite the fact his father often worked from home at the weekend he usually retired to his library fairly early, and his mother was normally occupied with errands of her own. He glanced between them suspiciously; they appeared to have stopped speaking the instant they'd heard him enter the room. How he hated the way they excluded him!

"Your letter from Hogwarts arrived this morning," said his mother, smoothly brushing over the uncomfortable silence with practised ease. She handed him a sealed envelope and then turned her attention briefly to the empty cup that sat in front of her. "I'll take you to get your books today," she said, as her son opened the letter.

"Today?" repeated Draco unenthusiastically. He looked up with slow reluctance; that wouldn't quite fit in with his plans!

"Yes, today. Why, does that interfere with your hectic schedule?" Narcissa snapped sarcastically.

Draco didn't dare answer back; the time would come later. He buried his nose in the letter instead, its accompanying booklist and a permission form for visiting Hogsmeade, which he began reading intently. Once he'd finished he looked back up and saw that his father was busy as usual, but his mother looked less occupied, she actually looked strangely ill at ease. Draco picked up a quill that was sitting on the mahogany sideboard in its inkstand. He dipped its tip in the black liquid and then moved back to her side.

"Can you sign this?" he asked. "Please," he added as an after thought.

Narcissa took the pen and slip from her son. Draco watched, his frown never leaving his face, as his mother scanned it distractedly and then signed '_Mrs N. A. Malfoy_' in her elegant script. She gave it back to him and asked to see his booklist, which he relinquished. She read this a little more carefully than the Hogsmeade permission slip, before getting to her feet.

"Don't take too long, Draco. I'd like to leave quite soon," she told him, speaking with the same preoccupied air that surrounded her.

Draco had finally taken a seat and started to help himself to some bacon, half an eye still on his mother, who, with a glance at his father, to which Lucius did not respond, left the room. Draco chewed his breakfast thoughtfully. Wonderful, he smiled down at his plate. If his mother were in one of her rare, distant moods she'd be much easier to manipulate!

Draco turned his eyes to his father, who was still yet to properly acknowledge his presence. It used to trouble him, but he'd grown patient and tolerant beyond his years, at least where his father was concerned. From where he was sat he could see that the headline of the Daily Prophet read: 'BLACK STILL AT LARGE'. Draco squinted across the table, but couldn't read the small print. He took another bite of bacon, reports of Black's escape from Azkaban, the infamous Wizard prison, had filled the paper for weeks, but Draco wasn't nearly satisfied with what he had been able to find out.

"Who is Sirius Black, father?" he asked bluntly.

He had asked this question numerous times, virtually every time he saw his father in fact, and was yet to get an answer to his liking. At the other end of the table the Daily Prophet was finally laid aside, albeit slowly. Lucius fixed his gaze dispassionately on his son.

"An escaped prisoner, Draco. Really you should pay more attention to the news," he drawled idly.

"But _who_ is he, father?" pressed Draco, for once in little mood to be fobbed off with blasé answers to his questions! He was feeling oddly daring. If Lucius was surprised, impressed, annoyed with his son's persistence he didn't show it. He laced his fingers together deliberately and considered his reply.

"You _should_ already be aware that he murdered thirteen people - twelve Muggles, hardly a great loss, and one wizard." Draco nodded eagerly, sensing one of his father's revelations. "But, what is not commonly known it that it was Black who betrayed the Potters," said Lucius carefully.

"Really?" Draco said slowly, his eyes alighting with glee. "Then-"

"Have you finished?" interrupted Narcissa, who had re-entered the room just in time to hear the last segment of the conversation. Draco looked at her reluctantly, but left the room to get ready to leave. Once their son had gone Narcissa instantly turned on her husband. "Giving him more ammunition, Lucius?" she demanded violently. "I don't want his head filled that with rubbish! Tell him the truth or tell him nothing."

"You would trust Draco with the truth?" asked Lucius sneeringly.

"You just want to know what Potter will do when he gets hold of that information, as you know he surely will now!" she hissed sharply. "You will _not_ use our son as a weapon!"

"Calm down, Narcissa," said Lucius disdainfully, "or Draco will know that something's wrong. He was watching your display of obvious agitation with unusually keen interest earlier." He sipped his coffee. "It's unlike you to be so transparent."

Narcissa glared at him reproachfully. She wandered around the table until her back was to him and she was facing the large bay windows. Light was spilling through them, outwardly turning everything it touched to gold.

"I'm a little tired, that's all," she murmured defensively. She raised her hands to her face as if to rub her eyes, but stopped abruptly as if catching herself off guard.

Lucius put his cup down; he had sensed his wife falter and recover, and he watched her back intently. It was hard to forget that his sleep had also been broken, with increasing frequency, by her nightmares. He had not mentioned this to Narcissa and she had not confided in him. He was on the verge of saying something, but hesitated uncertainly, what _could_ he say? Turning around and catching his troubled frown Narcissa spoke again acidly.

"You needn't look quite so worried. I shan't let you down."

"That is not what I was thinking," Lucius said slowly.

Narcissa raised a cynical eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief. She wavered though, when his eyes met hers, because she couldn't pick out the lie hiding in their profound depths. He stood up and walked towards her, noticing for the first time the very faint shadows etched beneath her own eyes.

"You do look tired."

"Thank you, Lucius," she retorted resentfully. "Then perhaps you would like to take Draco into London for me?"

"I went last year," Lucius responded, once again posed and uncaring as he turned away from Narcissa to sit back down, and what might had been was lost forever.

"Yes, I know," said Narcissa heavily as she moved towards the door. "Besides, I would have liked to have gone last year. It would have been-" she paused to find the correct word, "_interesting_ to finally meet young Mr Potter," she remarked darkly.

"It would have been interesting to meet that imbecile Lockhart you mean," snorted Lucius, turning his attention back to the paper.

"That too," agreed Narcissa tauntingly. She stole a covert glance at her husband, but when he refused to be riled she opened the door, marched out and left him alone.

Lucius waited, rereading the Daily Prophet but not taking in the meaning of the words, until he was sure that his wife and son had left. He then laid the paper aside and stared pensively into space. Narcissa was worrying him. As hard as he found that to admit, it was true. She had had nightmares before, but never with such intensity or frequency. Was it a warning, a premonition? How would he know if he never asked her? He could remember her guidance from years gone by, her help and counsel, although maybe, just maybe, her most valuable piece of advice had been given too late?

_'Be careful. You are not a man who finds it easy to follow orders, but you must if you want to live. It is like making a pact with the Devil, he will give you what you want, but he will take more than you have to give.'_

Narcissa had been so very young when she'd said that to him. He had tried to shrug it off, but he was no fool. He knew the truth of her words, but it was already too late. He leant back in his chair and touched his forearm instinctively, while an icy smile sculpted his mouth. Perhaps it had always been too late for him?

**OOoo..ooOO**

How Lucius had managed to get home after Voldemort's initiation he would never know. Pride alone no doubt pushed him on, dragging him beyond the bounds of his endurance. It was not possible to Apparate within the walls of the Manor; an ancient, cunning little trick of the Malfoys, but Lucius had still succeeded in reaching one of the formal gardens very close to the house. Once he was there however, he could go no further – with or without the aid of magic.

He collapsed on top of a stone bench, relishing its cold touch. His arm burned with such unrelenting cruelty that he felt as though it was covered in boiling oil. Nothing would cure the scalding flame; it worked itself deeper and deeper into his skin, seeming to char his very bones! He had never experienced such pain before, not the type of pain that causes men to long for death.

Lucius wasn't sure how long he lay there, looking up blindly at the stars while listening to the ceaseless trickle of a water fountain, as ever fibre of his being writhed in agony. It was only when the intensity of this pain began to ebb away a little, or perhaps he was just getting used to it, that conscious thoughts re-entered his head.

What had he done?

There was no simple answer. Lucius drew a deep, ragged breath and tried to ignore the dots that swam before him. He had sided with Lord Voldemort because it was a fundamental necessity; he would not stand against a man who shared so many of his own ideals! He closed his bloodshot eyes he was not an idiot! He knew he was no match for the Dark Lord…at that moment at least. He could hardly dare to admit, even to himself, that the most ambitious part of him would not be suppressed easily.

There was a war coming and sides had to be chosen. But wars were costly, especially for men like him, who on the whole were content with their lot in life. Nevertheless the notion that he could gain more power, more wealth that he could eradicate some of the weakness he so despised in his fellow man was seductive.

Weakness, how he hated it, loathed it above all else! It was inexcusable yet it surrounded him, and all because the Wizarding world refused to obey the simple laws of nature! 'Survival of the fittest, of the strongest', it was an age-old rule that they just brushed aside! Why, instead of following it, were they bound by rules made to protect such inferior beings as Muggles? Muggles, who he could sweep aside like the vermin they were, were left to believe in their own importance, their own superiority. It was truly sickening!

By the time these thoughts had been newly digested, and Lucius considered it feasible to try moving again, a fine misty drizzle had started to fall. He walked with the ginger motion of a man recovering from a long illness. He could remember virtually nothing of the night, wait…there was something, someone? The Dark Lord's new, anonymous collaborator? For some reason he could remember seeing them jump to their feet, but why? The memory was lost to him.

When Lucius finally entered the Manor, damp and pained and wretched, his father, Cassius Malfoy, was waiting to greet him. He stood in the centre of the hall, his stature a few vital inches shorter that his son's.

"I was beginning to think you were dead," he hissed anxiously. Lucius paused indecisively. Surely that was not _concern_ in his father's voice? "Can you imagine what the papers would say?" he added harshly. Anger radiated from him, but his son merely smiled in relief and understanding.

"It would hardly have mattered to me – being dead," Lucius replied carelessly. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, but regretted it immediately as a wave of hot pain broke over his body.

"Well you should care!" snarled his father. "When I think the future of our great family rests on your shoulders-" he shook his head, his dark brown hair, just a shade lighter than black, was tinged with its first few streaks silver. "You go too far Lucius, you don't know when to draw the line," he sighed. "I only hope it isn't your downfall."

"_Our_ downfall, don't you mean?" Lucius smiled wryly as he moved towards the stairs.

"Mind what I say, Lucius," Cassius said tiredly. "I can no longer protect you."

"It has been a while since you had that power," replied Lucius slowly. He had out grown his father fast, and been forced to grow up even faster, but that was not to say that he didn't heed his father's advice; experience was its own asset. "I do not know if this is the right path, but it is the only one open to me."

"If only I had taught you to step aside and keep to the sidelines." Cassius nodded wearily.

"It wouldn't have made any difference; you know what I am, father." Lucius also knew, in that very instance, that he already hated Voldemort, for breaking him, for branding him, for binding him.

**OOoo..ooOO**

The afternoon sunlight bathed the crowded, bustling streets, as summer desperately tried to fight off autumn, who was threatening to arrive before her due time. Carrying numerous parcels of various sizes Draco wandered miserably behind Narcissa as she walked out of Flourish and Blotts onto Diagon Alley.

True to her word, his mother had set aside time each day to coach him through his Hogwarts assignments and any additional work that she thought might prove beneficial. She was a meticulous teacher, and settled for nothing short of his very best! Draco scowled blackly and his gaze bore into the back of his mother's neck. Day after day he had endured her lessons in sacrifice of his holiday, but he still had an ace up his sleeve, and he was just about ready to play it! A nasty little smile crossed his face.

"What teacher in their right mind would set 'The Monster Book of Monsters' as part of their reading list?" Narcissa demanded angrily. "No one competent I'm sure! Your father may have a point about that school."

The assistant in the bookshop had looked mortified when they'd requested a copy. It hadn't been too difficult to see why when they'd noticed a specially constructed cage full of the green books, which were merrily ripping each other to shreds. The poor young man had just barely escaped with all his fingers intact before Narcissa had stepped in and subdued a copy temporarily with a freezing hex.

"Have we got everything now?" whined Draco childishly. He did not find shopping with his mother in the least bit enjoyable.

"I think so," mused Narcissa. She stopped in a shop doorway to consult her list. "Books, robes, stationery…"

"What about Quidditch kit?" Draco prompted. He had been gently steering his mother in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies all day. Narcissa looked suddenly pained.

"Are you sure you need-"

"Yes," interrupted Draco forcefully, taking the lead for first time that day.

"Can't you ask your father to take you to that horrid shop?" asked Narcissa unenthusiastically.

"But we're here now," said Draco simply.

With a resigned air of defeat she followed her son, until they were standing right in front of the busy shop, where the smell of polish and leather drifted out onto the street. Narcissa didn't care for brooms or Quidditch or anything that reminded her of her inventor grandfather. Why the Varvara's had had to make their fortune on such a trivial, laughable venture was mystery to her! Scowling she saw that in the shop window sat a rather large plaque, which read 'The Firebolt – Coming Soon!!!' Narcissa glanced down at Draco with a sudden air of understanding.

"No, Draco," she breathed dangerously, but for once her son wasn't going to be cowed into submission. He had wanted to wait until the broom was actually on sale, but now might be the only opportunity he'd get…

"How is grandmother?" he asked lightly, watching his mother's reaction closely in the windowpane. Her eyes flew down to his face, but then she too used the glass as a useful medium.

"Still alive I dare say," replied Narcissa coolly. In fact she had not seen or heard from her mother since their one hospital visit some weeks previously.

"What do you think father would say if I wanted to visit her again to see how she's doing?" asked Draco carefully. He watched his mother's reflection tense visibly.

"We decided to keep your little excursion a secret."

"You decided that, mother," said Draco accusingly. He sighed dramatically. "I must say, constantly lying to my own father is very stressful."

"You won't escape his anger if you tell him," said Narcissa, there was the smallest, tiniest hint of desperation in her voice.

She and Lucius had not really been on the best of terms since his visit to her father. Lucius had been quite irritable and Narcissa was having difficulty explaining his sour mood. Certainly her father did not have the power to influence him so markedly! Yet for some reason he had hardly been able to bear speaking two words to her for days afterwards. When Black's escape had first hit the newspapers it had proven an almost welcome distraction. Narcissa did not need Draco stirring up what could prove to be cataclysmic trouble!

"I will. I'm going back to school in a couple of weeks," smiled her son complacently.

Narcissa clasped her hands together to prevent herself from reaching for her wand and doing something she would later regret. Her own son was blackmailing her; it was laughable! He was obviously more astute than she gave him credit for, all the same, didn't he realise that she was his greatest ally? She couldn't let him get away with this, and yet she could let him tell his father either. Lucius would go ballistic if he ever found out that she'd taken Draco to see her mother, especially as he already knew that she'd run into her father on the way home!

"Very well, Draco," she said composedly. "If that is how you want to play."

Narcissa watched her son's smug smile falter with some satisfaction; perhaps he had just remembered that his mother was not a woman to provoke?

**-**


	12. Chapter Twelve: Isabelle Returns

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.

Acknowledgement(s): Kirixchi, for reminding me of something I would otherwise have forgotten! ;c)

Tainted Love

Chapter Twelve: Isabelle Returns****

The sky was still bright although it had started to rain.  Somewhere a rainbow would be revealing its colourful miracle - a smile facing the Heavens and not the Earth, trying to deny that the sun was really crying.  From where he sat behind the desk in his library Lucius glanced up at the rain-spattered window.  He had sent a letter that morning, and the window was still slightly open.  A collection of raindrops had fallen inside and created a wet little pool on the sill.  

He got up and closed the window, sealing himself away from the rain and the scent of his wife's fragrant gardens, but Lucius did not go back to the desk.  A feeling of intense restlessness had been steadily engulfing him and he could not settle.  He needed to do something, needed some task to occupy his mind.  Morbid discontent had prevailed upon him since his visit to Adrian Varvara, and because of it he had been unusually terse with Narcissa. 

It was quite plain to see that she couldn't appreciate what she'd done to aggravate him so thoroughly.  In truth she hadn't done anything, and that was the root of the problem; it was what she hadn't done, or more accurately what she hadn't let him do.  'You simply couldn't do anything for Narcissa!' he reasoned acerbically.  She either stopped you in your tracks or you did it without her knowledge, and therefore without her approval or appreciation.  Lucius had endured both scenarios too many times.  A light tap on the library door interrupted his bitter thoughts.

 "Enter," he said with sharp irritation. 

The door opened a fraction and the maid peered around it reluctantly, she stared not at her master but at the floor to deliver her message.

"Sir, there's a lady here to see you."

"A lady?"  Lucius allowed the smallest trace of surprise to enter his voice.  "Then show her into-" 

However, before he had a chance to finish his sentence a woman pushed the door open fully.  She brushed by the maid and sauntered into his library.  She was tall and slender, clothed in a deep emerald dress.  A mass of jet-black curls was pinned atop her head.  Lucius blinked slowly and the very house seemed to catch its breath.

"Isabelle," he drawled calmly after a moment's contemplation.  She laughed: a disarming, almost girlish, giggle.

"I confess, I had hoped to surprise you, but I don't seem to have succeeded, Lucius my dear," Isabelle smiled brilliantly.  Her host's eyebrows raised a mere fraction.  

Lucius dismissed the maid with a preoccupied nod.  She bobbed and disappeared, pulling the door shut behind her.  Completely shut away from the outside world the little room held a claustrophobic air that Lucius had never noticed before.  A light scowl touched his features; he would master this situation!

Isabelle looked up at him enquiringly, and for an instant he almost felt that he was a young man again.  He had forgotten some of her traits, the way she would bow her head a little, gaze up from under thick lashes and make a man feel like the centre of the universe.  Lucius drew a deep breath, because he _wasn't_ a young man capable of being swayed by her superficial tricks any longer.  He was nearer forty than twenty, with a wife and son, and no wish to revisit the past.

"I haven't seen you in years.  What can I do for you?" he asked.  Good manners kept his tongue in check although his tone was still brusque, however Isabelle cunningly ignored his stark lack of warmth towards her and simply smiled more sweetly.

"You haven't seen me since the day of your wedding," she reminded him, her voice silky and deliberate.  "I did try to catch you at the Ministry a few weeks ago."

"Yes I know," Lucius said with slow reluctance.  "I received your anonymous little note," he added coolly.

"I have missed you, Lucius," she said, her voice low.

"I'm touched," he replied blandly.  Turning slightly, Lucius glanced out of the window.  Absently he saw that the rain had stopped falling.  It felt very wrong to have admitted Isabelle to his private library, almost like a betrayal of sorts.  He was not comfortable with this alien feeling of guilt.   

"I see Narcissa has you well trained!" said Isabelle with a delicate laugh.  "You are supposed to say that you've missed me too."

"And if I haven't?" he sneered.  Isabelle took a sudden, ardent step towards him.

"Then I envy your wife with a passion greater than you will ever know," she whispered unsteadily.  "But, I do not believe you."

Lucius took a moment to absorb her claims.  She was different.  She had changed somehow.  But to tell Isabelle that his thoughts sometimes returned to her would be a mistake too great to contemplate.  He would not trust her with information a fraction as volatile!  Besides, he suddenly realised for the very first time, when his thoughts did wander back to their time together they rarely, if ever, returned to the moments they'd shared alone, always his memories of Isabelle were tinged with his earliest memories of…Narcissa.  He smiled inwardly, and felt a surge of unfamiliar warmth and reassurance; he had made the right choices.

"What was it you wanted, Isabelle?"

The witch looked fleetingly taken aback.  She cleared her throat distractedly.

"It was really Narcissa I came to see, is she around?" asked Isabelle, peering around the library as if expecting to find her rival hiding among the clutter.

"No."  A nasty smile was playing on Lucius' face.  "But surely the maid told you that, if you asked to see my wife when you arrived?"  Isabelle flicked a stray curl nervously out of her eyes.  "So?" prompted Lucius mercilessly with renewed resolve.  "What did you want with Narcissa?"

"That is between the two of us," she sniffed haughtily.  Lucius looked at her dispassionately.

"Very well, then you may wait in the drawing room, or call back tomorrow," he stated curtly.

"Now really, Lucius," Isabelle flashed her enchanting little smile at him, but he didn't seem to buckle.  True, he had surprised her, but her recovery was fast.  She took a deep, calculating breath.  "I just came see if she wanted to speak to someone about her mother."

"You wanted to _what_?" asked Lucius in disbelief.  Isabelle gave him the pitying, superior glance that women save only for men.

"I'm working at St Mungo's," she revealed.  "I've been helping Mrs Varvara come to terms with her illness.  I thought Narcissa might also like someone to speak to."

"And you thought she might want to talk to _you_?"  His complete shock and utter mistrust was too great to hide, he rallied quickly but hated himself for his own lapse in composure.  "I don't recall you advocating a vocation as a healer?"

"Well, not exactly a healer," said Isabelle hastily.  "But I'm told I do have a talent for listening-"

"And telling people what they want to hear?  Yes, I'll believe that."

"You always did say whatever was on your mind," sighed Isabelle reminiscently, yet beneath her outward sincerity rested a layer of cunning trickery.  "But nevertheless, for all your doubts, I did have a lovely conversation with your son."

The absurdity of the situation was suddenly lost on Lucius; his gaze was once again as cold and formidable as an avalanche

"And when did you see Draco?" he demanded crisply.  Isabelle rested one hand on a shapely hip and pouted prettily.

"When he and your wife came to see Mrs Varvara of course, really Lucius aren't you listening to me?"

"Draco was at St Mungo's with Narcissa?" growled Lucius looking thunderous.

"Yes," Isabelle confirmed lightly, but her eyes were glittering devilishly beneath their lashes.

Walking home through the little village of Westbury-on-Severn Narcissa was still having trouble grasping the fact that her own son had blackmailed her!   She had ordered the accursed broom; what other choice had she, but how would she explain it to Lucius?  What new lie was she to concoct?  

Mother and son had not spoken a word to each other during the train journey home.  Narcissa knew how desperate Draco would be to return to the Manor so that he could write and tell the whole of Hogwarts about his coming prize.  She thought the wait on the train might temper his elation, and give her time to think of a convincing story to tell her husband.  It hadn't.

Lost in their own thoughts neither Narcissa nor Draco noticed the occasional villager, who would glance at them, sometimes fearfully and sometimes contemptuously.  But as the pair travelled out of Westbury, the villagers and their little honey-coloured cottages were soon left behind and forgotten completely. 

Narcissa knew that her racing heart had little to do with her exertion; she was more anxious than she had been in a very long time!  She opened a wooden gate, which led onto a narrow, beaten track that wound through a copse and onto the Manor's grounds.  She walked through it and spitefully let it fall shut before Draco, carrying the day's purchases, could follow.

In distraction her nervous steps had carried her ahead of her son, even so far as over the wooden bridge that spanned the river.  The lawn that led to the Manor was damp, and the threat of thunder lingered in the air as Narcissa climbed the gentle slope towards her home.  She glanced over her shoulder; Draco was following like a sulking puppy, but the distant thud of a closing door caught her attention and she turned back to face the house.

In front of the Manor's large doorway stood two people.  One of them was Lucius, but the other figure remained a mystery.  Her pace quickened; she feared bad news whenever someone unfamiliar arrived unannounced at the Manor.  But, as she neared the stone steps, which led up to the little ornamental wall that separated the gravel foregrounds of the house from the lawn, sudden recognition hit her with the force of a lightning strike.

"Isabelle," she hissed silently through clenched teeth.  

Seeing them standing together was like a snapshot of life as it might have been, as the future still could be!  Narcissa fought to breathe through the fear that clutched her.  The colour rose to her face as she continued her advance with new zeal, but a hand closed around her wrist and coaxed her to a stop.  She turned furiously to face Draco, who had dropped the parcels to run to her side, but her anger faded when she saw the deathly pallor of his face and every fibre of her being trembled like a falling star.

"What is it?" she asked, hardly daring to voice the question.

"That woman, I know her," breathed Draco, his voice low and shaky.  Narcissa frowned in dull incomprehension.  "She was the nurse I spoke to at St Mungo's!"

"You spoke to no one."  Narcissa's voice was robotic.  Her son's grip on her wrist had not loosened, it was painful almost unbearable.

"I did, when you sent me to fetch a vase!" he groaned.  "She knows _I_ was there!" said Draco fearfully, as he eyed the woman nervously.

"Then so does you father."  

Draco froze at the deadened tone of his mother's voice. Narcissa stilled the reeling inside her head.  She was a strong woman, much stronger than most people could imagine, but then most did not know the story of her past.  The same pool of strength that had sustained her during the dark abyss of her adolescence would aid her now.  Many times she had been tested, this was no different, even Lucius could not penetrate the mask of frigid pride Narcissa could conjure when necessary.

She could feel him now.  Anger flowed from her husband, like waves that could drown her.  The whole Manor seemed cold and forbidding, condemning her for her betrayal.  Yes, she was guilty, but Isabelle Zabini would not bring her to trial!

"Clever of her," breathed Narcissa to herself.  Her stance was perfectly indifferent as she walked up the little steps, while the eyes of her husband and his ex-lover pierced her like arrows.  She walked right up to them, as calmly as if they were no more than passing strangers.  "I trust we're not interrupting anything?" she asked placidly.  Lucius said nothing, though Narcissa noted a muscle was twitching in her husband's clenched jaw.  Isabelle turned to her, with her brilliant doe eyes and said with sugary sweetness:

"Why Narcissa, my dear, how you've altered!  I would hardly have recognised you!" she simpered, with concern that may have sounded genuine to any but Narcissa.  "You no longer have that innocent, fresh sparkle everyone so adored."

"And I weep daily for the loss of it," replied Narcissa with such cutting dry sarcasm that Isabelle was momentarily silenced.  A roll of thunder filled the gap.

"Draco," Isabelle exclaimed, rallying valiantly, "do you remember me?"

Narcissa watched from the corner of her eye as her son stepped a little ahead of her - her champion positioning himself between herself and her threat - and she felt such a sudden surge of love for him that she could have forgiven him anything in that moment.  He stared at the black-haired witch with a look of utter loathing before giving a nonchalant shrug.  They were all of them formidable actors realised Narcissa suddenly.

"He remembers you," she smiled mildly, knowing her smile would serve only to anger Lucius further, but she couldn't resist.  "Fetch your parcels Draco, we're going inside," she said softly.  He hesitated but only for a moment.

Isabelle looked at Lucius questioningly; she was expecting to witness the fireworks!  Narcissa was surprised by the strength of hatred stirred within her by such a tiny gesture.  Once her son was ready she pressed him forwards.  With unseen reluctance Draco walked towards his father; Lucius was still standing before the front door.

The anger evoked by Isabelle served Narcissa well as they manoeuvred between the two of them.  Her own sour resentment rebuffed Lucius' blistering fury much better than pride alone ever could have.  She reached passed Draco towards the door, but Lucius pulled it open for them.  Narcissa could not force herself to look at him as she passed.  

Once they were inside the door was slammed like prison bars behind them and Narcissa winced as she felt the house shudder under the pure force of this act.  She held her body rigid; her husband's silence had disturbed her more than she'd thought possible.

Draco had already darted upstairs.  Narcissa could not blame him; she too edged towards the staircase, but before she had reached the first step the door opened again.  Surprise made her spin around.

Lucius entered the house, surrounded by that same aura of power that had first drawn her to him.  Would he dare unleash it upon her?  But then a bewildered frown flashed fleetingly across Narcissa's face; had he really got rid of Isabelle so fast?  A flutter within her made her sway.  She held her silence and waited.  He kept walking until he was standing close enough to her that she was forced to lift her head to maintain eye contact with him.

"Have you nothing to say to defend yourself?" he growled, as if control was a thing he scarcely had.

"You are my husband, not my keeper," Narcissa replied icily.

From his hiding place at the top of the stairs Draco flinched at his mother's conceit.  'Just say sorry,' he begged her silently.  'Father won't expect that!  You don't even have to mean it, just say it and save us both!'  There would be no Firebolt for him now, but it hardly seemed to matter.

An unexpected knock sounded on the front door.  Draco didn't hear either of his parents move, but the door crashed open with enough power to nearly throw it off its hinges.

"Lucius!"  He heard his mother hiss in chastisement.  Lord, she was brave, or very, _very_ stupid!  And then, another new, but not unfamiliar voice joined the fray.

"Is this a bad time?"

Draco risked a quick peek over the banister that concealed him.  Professor Snape was standing in the doorway!  There was an odd little smile playing upon his thin mouth.

"Not at all, Snape," said Lucius.  To the untrained ear his voice was perfectly normal, but Draco felt the rage flowing beneath his father's words.  "If you wouldn't mind waiting in the drawing room?  There is a small matter my wife and I need to resolve."

"Of course," replied Snape, there was a very unfamiliar flicker of amusement in his voice that Draco had never heard before.  "Narcissa," he added in greeting.

Draco didn't hear his mother's reply, which was strange.  He listened to his Professor's footsteps on the carpet, the gentle click of a door being opened and shut, before they were alone again.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Narcissa asked, her voice a little uneven.  

The silence that followed was almost painful.  Draco knew that his father and Professor Snape were 'friends' in the loosest sense of the word.  It was not usual for them meet, but rarely did his mother join them.  He had thought this was because she was a woman, uninterested in men's business, but suddenly he wasn't so sure.

"I invited him to dinner," divulged Lucius at last.  

"And why did you do that?" demanded Narcissa without restraint, and again Draco flinched.

"Dare I trust you with the answer I wonder?" he sneered.  His words cut Narcissa deeply.  Would he truly withdraw his trust because of one foolish act on her part?

"That's not fair," she breathed difficultly.

"Fair?" repeated Lucius with such scorn Narcissa turned her head away in defence.  "When has that been a rule by which we've lived?" he asked, not waiting for an answer.  "When you became my wife, you promised me your loyalty," he reminded her ruthlessly.  "I expect nothing more and nothing less."

"You're overreacting," she said as blankly as she could manage, although she felt physically sick.

"You think so?" he replied, hot anger dancing across his features.  

Narcissa could feel what little composure she had slipping from her grasp.  One hospital visit to her own mother and he acted as though she'd commit a cardinal sin!

"Well what are you going to do about it?" she hissed.  "You know, maybe you should have followed your father's advice, and married a more submissive wife!"

"Perhaps!" he growled.

"Fine!  Then get rid of me!" she shouted her challenge, and Draco thought his heart had stopped.  His mother's suicidal taunt hung in the air.  What was she doing?  Didn't she know he needed her to stand between him and his father?  "I wouldn't be so hard to replace, you already have Isabelle waiting in the wings!" she snarled, forgetting herself.

"I think-" began Lucius, and his voice was so altered, so devoid of emotion that Draco was compelled to peep over the banister once more.  His parents still stood facing one another, almost like combatants in a duel.  "You should remove yourself from my sight before you say anything else you'll regret."

Despite his words it was Lucius, who made the first move to leave and extract himself from the situation, but Narcissa couldn't allow herself to let him have the last word.  She couldn't even give him that.

"Or before you do something you'll regret?" she demanded forcefully.

Lucius stopped dead in his tracks.  He did not turn his head, but kept his back to Narcissa.

"_Stop_ comparing me to your father."

Draco just caught the words his father spat at his wife before sweeping out of the hall.  It was not over, and his turn would come soon enough.  With the air of defeat already touching him, Draco picked up the packets that he had bought such a long time ago and retreated to the relative safety of his room.  

Downstairs, Narcissa hardly knew what to do.  Her hands visibly shook.  Her pride was a weapon, and she wielded it like a sword, but it cost her dearly.  The front door still stood open, her feet carried her towards it and through it in the distance she saw her late mother-in-law's wooden bridge beckoning her.  She pushed the door shut with more force than was necessary, turned back and walked wearily up the stairs.

She would take her punishment like a good girl; an acid smile graced her face.  It had been a foolish, daredevil risk to involve Draco with her family, but Lucius' reaction had been more extreme than she had feared.  It did not occur to her that Isabelle's arrival had unnerved him too.

Upstairs, her feet had carried her passed the master bedroom to a door that had grown stiff with disuse.  She wasn't even sure what had drawn her to _this_ room.  Inside was a bedroom, the air was a little stale and the heavy curtains were always left drawn, to keep the ravages of light at bay.  

Her drained, grey eyes lingered on the only painting in the room.  As she walked towards it the artist's initials drew her eye, 'SML', recorded forever in gold leaf; she would have liked to ask the painter what title they'd given to their work.  She came to stop before the masterpiece, and then, almost piously Narcissa gazed up at the red dragon in the golden frame.

"Why can't the past stay where it is?" she muttered, and the dragon turned its great eyes to her.  "Severus I tolerate, and Isabelle I expected, eventually.  One mistake has been my downfall.  How dear a price will I be made to pay for that?" she whispered reflectively.  "Is this the coming storm I must endure?"

There was something else too, a distant memory that wanted to resurface, because seeing Lucius and Severus together always reminded her of the very first time that she'd seen them in each others company…

…It had happened just before midsummer.  Hogwarts was a closed book to Narcissa then; she had left the school behind.  She was walking through the evening streets of Wizarding London with her circle of friends.  Clothed in a dress of pure white silk, which flowed like rippling water, she held herself well with the knowledge that she looked breathtaking.  Around her neck hung a silver chain, the pendant strangely indistinguishable.   She was attending a friend's cousin's birthday, or some such nonsense, a chore but she had become glad of any excuse to flee Cotehele, her gilded cage.

The Glass Slipper was a very posh, exclusive restaurant quite close to Diagon Alley, but as they approached it Narcissa decided to hang back a little for once and she stepped inside after her friends.  Acquaintances would be a more fitting description for them really, because her friends were interchangeable, not one was especially dear to her.

She followed them into the bar, where they insisted on having drinks before dinner.  As she walked confidently across to the table they had selected she felt the pressure of every eye in the restaurant turn and fall on her.  But not one lustful stare or envious glance did she return, until the tingle of familiarity caressed her.  Narcissa let her eyes wander slowly around the plush room and they came to rest on a party of people sitting around a table at the far end of the room.  A tiny gasp escaped her lips; she could do nothing to stop it.

Severus Snape sat at the table beside Lucius Malfoy, the rest of the party she ignored.  Both of the men were watching her, she saw the smirk teasing young Severus' mouth, but Lucius she could not read.  Narcissa pulled her gaze away and tried to forget them as a glass of something indistinguishable was pressed into her hand.  She drank it, too quickly because an airy lightness emptied her head. 

Little attention did she pay to her own party.  Her mind was buzzing with too many other thoughts.  While she knew Severus had connections as dubious Lucius' own, she had not known they knew each other; he had certainly never mentioned it!  So just how had Severus ingratiated himself into Lucius' inner circle?  More importantly, why hadn't he told her?  A seed of annoyance planted itself with her.  

Another glass was handed to her, Narcissa drank this too, while gathering in a few sneaky glances that Lucius' father and the man he had called Lestrange were also sitting across the bar room.  So too was Isabelle, just as Narcissa had expected.

"Narcissa?" said a voice.

She lifted her eyes and found the concerned gaze of a young man, who's name she had not even bothered to remember, resting upon her. 

"Are you all right?  You look a little flushed," he said, once he thought he had her full attention.

"I'm fine," she said quickly.  "It's a little close in here, that's all.  I think I'll get some air," Narcissa added getting carefully to her feet.  Her head span very slightly and she frowned.  What _had_ she been drinking?  Her concerned admirer jumped up too.

"There's a little patio just through there," he said eagerly, pointing to a set of large glass doors that Narcissa had already seen.  "Do you need a hand?"

Narcissa let her eyes flicker between his keen face and the doorway.  Pursing her lips she decided to have a little fun.  She took a provocative step towards him, which seemed to make him blush, fluttered her eyelashes and then lifted her head so that her painted mouth was placed sensually alongside his ear.

"I think," she began, her voice low and husky, "I can manage without you," she finished cruelly.

The nameless youth stepped back sharply, looking abashed.  With a wonderfully rich laugh she rarely gave reign, Narcissa strolled passed him towards the door, for once oblivious to the eyes that followed her.

There were tables outside too, in the restaurant's neat little garden.  It was a lovely warm evening so most of them were full.  Narcissa wove her way between them before finding an empty one to occupy.  She supposed she'd have to stay outside for a few minutes at least, if only she hadn't let her thoughts wander…  A shadow fell across her and she looked up with a tiny start.

"Severus!" Narcissa exclaimed in surprise.  "What are you doing here?" she asked.  "I had no idea you were such good friend's with Lucius Malfoy," she added with a bite of sarcasm.

"Oh, we move in similar circles, in some ways at least," said Snape with a dark, conspiratorial smile.  

A chill trickled down Narcissa's spine, how often had her thoughts returned to Lucius after her fateful encounter with the Dark Lord?  Too many hours she had spent wondering if he was all right.  She had spent almost as many waiting to learn more of her own fate, but not one word had been communicated to her.  She wanted to ask him about it, but it was too risky here, among so many people.

"Lestrange's got a position teaching at Hogwarts, so they're…_celebrating_," offered Severus, who was looking almost presentable Narcissa noticed.  "Oh, and he wants to meet you," he added causally with a superior smile.

"Why?" Narcissa asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Haven't a clue," shrugged Snape, as if he too found it unbelievable that anyone would wish to meet her.  "After your little display with lover boy Lucius sent me to fetch you."

"He did?" exclaimed Narcissa, her eyes widened.

"Don't get too excited," Snape sneered disdainfully.  "It was only to stop Lestrange cursing the fool; he's hardly been able to control himself since you walked in," he scoffed.

"Lestrange?  Isn't he engaged?" muttered Narcissa dejectedly.

"Narcissa!" said Snape patronisingly.  "As if such things matter to men like them."

Narcissa felt a funny little pain stab at her heart, but put it down to the strength of the alcohol she'd been given.  Severus stood up and actually waited to take her arm.  It felt strange and uncomfortable, but she took advantage of the close proximity it leant her.

"And Isabelle, how's she?"

"Just as beautiful, devious and attached to the man you've stupidly set your sights on as ever," he said happily.  "She's prettier than you, Cissy," he goaded her.

"She's older too," Narcissa hissed tartly.

Snape laughed as they neared their destination, it seemed the only time he enjoyed these social engagements was when he was causing trouble or pain.  The men all stood to greet Narcissa, though Isabelle kept her seat, as was her right as a lady.  Narcissa would have wished herself a million miles away, except for one lure that snared her.

"We feared Snape was keeping you all to himself," smiled Lestrange, taking her hand.  "I don't think we've met before?"  

He was handsome, charming, but there was a lecherous glint in his eyes that Narcissa found insufferable.  She endured his introduction and then, as should have happened first, was introduced to Cassius Malfoy.  She could see Lucius in him.  Narcissa supposed it should have been the other way around; she should have seen him in Lucius, but no man could ever be as vividly vibrant as Lucius in her eyes.

She was searching for something to say to Lucius' father, wanting desperately to find a way to judge him, but Lestrange halted her ambitions.

"That necklace," he murmured.  To Narcissa's disbelief he suddenly reached out a hand and touched the pendent hanging around her neck.  "I have never seen its likeness before."  His fingers brushed against her skin deliberately.  She would have loved to hex him for it!

"It's the Pendragon crest," said Snape helpfully.  Narcissa's eyes flew to him, cursing his loose tongue too!

"And what's that?" asked Lestrange.

"Nonsense, that's what!" Cassius interjected.  Narcissa felt a prickle of anger.  Isabelle smirked beside Lucius, whom Narcissa had not looked at directly once, and so she had not seen him glaring at his friend's advances.

"I think you have never been to Cotehele then, sir," said Snape carefully.  Narcissa opened her mouth to try and silence Severus, but Isabelle spoke first.

"I do not think it proper to talk of one's own ancestry like this," she sniffed.

"Quite, that is why I have not said a word," Narcissa said sharply, her eyes flashing between Severus and the witch.  She saw a slow, intrigued smile crossed Cassius Malfoy's face.

"You must bring the young lady to the Manor on Midsummer's Eve, Snape."  

Narcissa felt her cheeks flush as her invitation was made through Severus.  So, Lucius' father was yet another man who thought all women should be downtrodden and obedient!  She had heard the rumours concerning the death of his wife, although she had not wanted to believe them.  Narcissa was trying vainly to think of a sharp, cutting remark, when someone stole her voice.

"I don't think our Miss Varvara responds well to such brazen invitations, father," said Lucius smoothly.  Narcissa's eyes raced to find his for the first time.  She saw the laughter in their depths, but for some reason it did not anger her.

"But I think she must come, Lucius," pressed Cassius unrelentingly, with the passion of a man who has found a new toy.

"If that is what she desires," his son replied calmly…

…Night had fallen.  It must have, for the dim room was now pitch black.  Narcissa abandoned the painting and moved over to the window.  She pulled back the curtains, letting silvery moonlight bathe the room.  Thunder was still rumbling occasionally in the distance.  The memory lingered with Narcissa; such past occurrences were strangely dear to her now.  Every fresh exchange had stayed with her.  

Thunder rang out again, or was it footsteps in the passage?  The door creaked open behind her and she felt her pulse quicken as she turned to face Lucius.  He had found her.  She tried to steady herself; it was harder to decipher him in the dark.

"Why are you in here?" he growled, but this question she ignored.

"What did Severus have to say?" she asked instead.

"I think you forfeited your right to an answer to that question," he replied fractiously, a testy reminder of her behaviour, but then he paused and his eyes glinted in the moonlight.  "Now then," he breathed, his voice dangerously sleek, "shall we continue where we left off or have you finally come to you senses?"  

Cold silence met his taunting question.  He looked deceptively casual; the collar of his black shirt was unbuttoned, its sleeves rolled up revealing now unblemished skin.  Narcissa followed him with her eyes, alert to his every movement.  He walked in a circle around her, as if she was his prey.  It was harder to fight with a man she had just watched defend her in her mind's eye, she realised vaguely.

"A very good answer," he said softly when she said nothing.  A joyless smile curved his mouth.  "So now I have another question, one so simple even you should be able to answer it," he added viciously.  "Why did you lie to me, Narcissa?" he demanded. 

She started, and could hear faint disappointment mingled with his anger.  That was unexpectedly blunt; she had been preparing to dance around that question for days, but he wanted an answer now!  Before she'd had time to analyse her own reasons, before she'd had time to plan how to properly phrase those reasons!  Was that Lucius being very clever, or had she hurt him more deeply than she knew?

 "I had no choice.  You hate my mother for who she is," she said with false calmness.  "I wonder, one day will you hate me too?"

"Don't you dare!" he snarled.  "Don't you dare blame me for your deceit!"

"You wanted my reason," Narcissa reminded him.

She folded her arms under her breasts, forming a physical barrier between herself and her husband.  Yes, his hatred of her mother had spurned her on, but it had been her own arrogance, the thrill of getting the better of him, that had turned her thoughts into actions.

"You've never asked me why I hate you mother," he said slowly.  "And don't give me that pitiful speech about my envy of her being the descendant of some ridiculous, ancient sorceress!" he hissed swiftly.

A flash of lightning lit the room.  The red dragon had just shot a ball of flames across his picture frame, but Lucius seemed not to notice.  Narcissa was still standing with her arms folded, watching him contemptuously.

"Go on then," she said with a sneer.  "Surprise me."

He nodded his fair head, as if accepting a challenge.

"When was the first time you father hit you?" he demanded.  Narcissa let her arms drop to her sides in shock.  "The first time he broke one of your fragile little bones?" he continued ruthlessly.  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.  "You can't even remember can you?" he finished his voice a little less harsh.  His eyes searched the pain that shone so openly on her face.  "I didn't quite understand it, until I first saw you with Draco in your arms; and I knew you would sacrifice your life for him," he confessed.  "Your mother stood by and watched your father try to break you.  She was your only defence – and she failed you.  I do not want my son to see weakness like that in his own family!"

"You don't understand!  You _can't_!" cried Narcissa, finding her voice while trying to understand if he was saying that he hated her mother for her sake or Draco's.  "She didn't have a choice!  She never stood a chance against my father."

"Because she is weak," agreed Lucius.

"Because she loved him, and he couldn't love anyone," refuted Narcissa tiredly.  Lucius looked passed his wife, out of the window, and an expression of turmoil temporarily flickered across his face.  "You're getting better at punishing me," Narcissa whispered dryly as she stared down at the floor.  For some reason, this simple, quiet little statement incensed Lucius.  Never had she expected the reaction that ensued!

"Let us understand one another," he said, straining to keep his voice level.  He backed her up against a wall and placed a clenched fist either side of her head, pinning her in place beneath the strength of his forearms.  "You lied to me.  You had our son lie to me.  _You_ are in the wrong."  

Narcissa was confused, bewildered, by his reaction and her own, because even now she could not find it in herself to fear him.

"I know," she whispered her bemused confession, as he had never expected her to.  She let her eyes fall shut.  It was not an apology, but…  "I wanted her to see, Draco," she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.  

She felt Lucius relax his arms, but he did not move away.  Narcissa had hardly even admitted this fact to herself; perhaps she really had wanted to prove herself in her mother's eyes?  There had been that one other reason behind her visit, not the reason she'd lied or taken Draco but _her_ reason for going.  She had admitted it to Draco in a moment of weakness, but she didn't dare confess it to Lucius.

"I wish you had told me that then," he sighed, his breath stirred her hair.

"So do I!" Narcissa said with a bitter laugh.

Lucius looked down at his wife, she kept her eyes downcast and his gaze softened.  She had opened herself to him slightly, and that was enough to earn her a temporary reprieve.  

Narcissa gasped when she felt his lips brush against the pulse at the base of her neck.  She raised her eyes to his uncertainly.  She saw him swallow and then with aching slowness begin to lower his mouth to hers, he was so unbelievably controlled that she wanted to scream!  She couldn't play this game tonight!  With a tortured little sob Narcissa raised her lips to his and ended her torment.  

She hadn't meant to kiss him, not like that, not ravenously, not uncontrollably, not as if he was her very lifeline.  Such wild, unrestrained passion wasn't ladylike - she had the insane urge to laugh.  He had meant to punish her, she knew that, but she could feel his stringent control begin to slip too.  She heard him groan as she knotted her hands in his hair and leant the full weight of her body against him; she didn't trust her legs.  She was on fire.  She was losing control.  Narcissa suddenly drew back, and knocked her head against the wall, shaken to her core.  What _was_ she doing?  It was this room, she reasoned, _his_ old room, too full of memories…  

Besides, was he just settling for what he could have while Isabelle was unavailable?  Narcissa had pushed all her thoughts of the witch to the very back of her mind, but suddenly she was filled with a thousand doubts and fears.

"You think you have the strength to refuse me?" Lucius asked unevenly, ignorant of her new worries.

"You know I have that strength," she stated with breathless resolution.  "Or are you confusing me with Isabelle?" she snapped violently.

"Isabelle?" he murmured slowly, as if he had never heard the name before, but Narcissa didn't trust his innocent act.

"If you're only here because you can't have her-"

"I could have her at any time I choose," he snarled heartlessly.  Narcissa shied away from him as if in pain.  He saw this and faltered.   "But I want you," he added softly, running a hand through her hair with earned intimacy.  Narcissa drew a treacherous breath and raised her defenceless eyes to his.  

"I am your wife," she reminded him softly, giving him permission to have his way, while trying desperately to conceal her own wanton needs, but he did not understand this because he dropped her from his arms, looking oddly wounded.

"My wife?" he repeated slowly.  "You say that as if it were nothing more than a job you applied for," he growled turning away from her bitterly.  

Narcissa felt so despicably weak without his arms to hold her, as if she was crumbling inside!

"No, never has it been that," she blurted without thinking, too quickly the words were spoken and she was unable to withdraw them.  Lucius stopped abruptly and waited for Narcissa to speak into the silence, but she said nothing more.  Was he the one being played for a fool here?  He felt that he was the one out of control, revealing things he'd long kept hidden.  Lucius wrenched the door open, but then heard her one broken whisper, "I wish-"  

The door was gently re-closed as a second flash of lightning illuminated the room.  Lucius did not turn back to Narcissa, but the second of light outlined the tension drumming through his whole body.

"You wish what?" he asked softly.  

Narcissa licked her dry lips, searching for an admission she was able to speak.  Time ticked by and again her husband impatiently reached for the door handle while he still had the strength to walk away.

"Don't leave me-" she whispered, but the last of her words were stolen by a roll of thunder.  

Lucius finally turned back and moved towards his wife, but he was too proud to ask her to repeat her plea.  She would not have done so anyway.  If he could not convince her of his fidelity with words, he would use another means.

As always, the night was his ally abating his anger until the morning, and so once again he took Narcissa in his arms.  She relented, good sense and reason overpowered by a desire she could no longer quell.  

"One day I will make you understand me," she promised him fitfully.  Lucius kissed her lips with a vulnerable tenderness she had never expected from him.  "If only I could believe you would do the same," she whispered silently to herself, one tear making its escape as he laid her down upon the bed.

-


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Dragons & Degradation

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.

Tainted Love

Chapter Thirteen: Dragons & Degradation****

Pain.  Sharp and searing, it cut through the night like Death's very scythe.  Narcissa's eyes shot open; her body was petrified, crippled with this sudden inexplicable hurt.  She couldn't move, nor make a sound.  With every gulping breath she felt a thousand needles stab into her heart, until breathing itself became almost too much of a torment to endure.  Was she dreaming again?  Her gasps became shallower, faster, but then, through the pall of her suffering, Narcissa heard someone scream her name.

Who?  Who was it that cried out so desperately for her in the midst of the night?  Their voice seemed neither physical nor cerebral; no tangible being could make such a sound, but no phantom either!  It was the combined cry of the two, body and soul, being ripped apart.  

Sobbing dry tears, Narcissa fought herself and forced her breaking body to move.  The arms that held her no longer offered their former protection.  She was conscious after all, but Lucius was still sleeping.  So deeply, so calmly, it was as though the troubles of the waking world were but a dream to him.  Sweet relief managed to penetrate Narcissa's panic, but was soon replaced by an even deeper dread.  Draco?  What of her son?

With a surge of effort, disproportional to the simple task ahead of her, Narcissa swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand.  All she achieved was to collapse with a cry of pain filled frustration!  What in the name of the Gods was wrong with her?

Two pinpricks of pale colour flared into life as Lucius opened his eyes.  Hazy confusion cleared quickly from their drowsy depths when he noticed the empty space by his side.  A flash of potent anger filled him.  Mere hours earlier he had taken Narcissa and given himself to her in return.  Where had she scurried off to now?  Didn't she understand him at all?  Before this burning question had had time to properly evolve, he heard the rasping laborious breaths.

Lucius moved across the bed with a show speed he rarely revealed.  He was momentarily stunned by the physical pang he felt at the first realisation that those hoarse gasps had come from Narcissa, who was hunched over in a contortion of agony on the floor.  In the silver moonlight he could see the beads of sweat glistening on her face, the paleness of her lips and the glassy quality of her eyes.  Was another of her nightmares causing this devastating seizure?

"Narcissa?" he choked, appalled by the jarring sound of his voice.  He did not expect a response if indeed she was just dreaming, so when her eyes focused on him, wide and terrified, he didn't know quite what to feel.  He was by her side in a heartbeat, caring nothing for his state of undress.  "Narcissa?"  Her name alone seemed to have lodged itself in this throat.

"L-Lu-" she stammered.  Her slender body was wracked by shudders she couldn't stop; they prevented her from calling out for her husband.  

Lucius stared mutely at his wife, never in his life had he felt so utterly powerless!  What could he do to help her?  He had no notion of the fact that his presence alone was enough to abate the very worst of his wife's fears.  He was unharmed.  Two syllables were forming themselves on Narcissa's deadened tongue as she concentrated on manipulating her parched mouth.  

"Draco!" she slurred her son's name and then slumped slightly because of the effort it had cost her.

Lucius studied her, paralysed by the indecision that rendered him useless.  He understood her meaning, her request - her command.  But how could he leave her?  The house felt the same to him, strong, impenetrable, nothing was _wrong_, bar whatever madness held his wife prisoner.  He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else!  He could not, _would_ not lose Narcissa in this way!

"Narcissa!"  He grabbed her by the arms and shook her roughly.  Her grey eyes again focused on him, steely and lucid, they eased his suffering.  Her mind was still coherent, even if her body was not within her control.  If that were the case, if insanity did not call to her, if her intuition truly had not left her, then he would be guided by her judgment.  Lucius narrowed his troubled eyes as the implications of his reasoning hit him.  Draco!

Narcissa felt her husband's presence vanish from her side.  She was alone, totally and utterly, with only the demons inside her head for company.  

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely, the minutes dragged by as she waited desperately for Lucius to return.  At least as the seconds ticked by the pain ravaging Narcissa's body began to seep from her slowly, like blood being wrung from a tourniquet.  The night air chilled her damp, naked skin until she started to shiver.  Little by little she dragged herself back into the bed and under the already cooling covers.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she had forgotten something.  Nevertheless, she felt reassured; Lucius would protect Draco.  The night before, he had said that Narcissa would die for their son.  He only knew this because they shared the same Achilles' heel.  If only she was in a fit state to follow him!  She would not let Lucius fight alone; she never had, but doubt suddenly raised its ugly head and jeered cruelly at Narcissa.  

Was there really anything for Draco to be protected from?  As her pain subsided feelings of foolishness and embarrassment began creeping over Narcissa.  Her fear was irrational and her actions had been weak, driven by passion she had been unable to quench.  It was the kind of behaviour Lucius despised – that she herself despised!  What had possessed her to act in such a manner?  She had been overcome with emotions beyond her control!  Would Lucius even bother to return to her after such a disgraceful display?  Would he send one of the servants to deal with her instead?  Lying on her side, her knees drawn into her body, Narcissa continued to shake.  She felt empty, hollow, as if she would never again be whole.  She didn't like it; she didn't _understand_ it!

Her eyes fell shut, her lids forming a feeble barrier against the dull pounding inside her head.  Sleep enticed her, but she couldn't give in to it, not yet, not until she was absolutely certain that everything was all right.  She forced her eyes to open.  Where was her wand?  There must be some spell she could cast, something she could do to right her skewed senses!  She _hated_ the feeling of helplessness engulfing her!  If only she could be positive that everything was well, if only she had the power to erase the whole, shameful episode from their memories; she would have done so without a second thought!  If she could just gather enough energy… but once again her eyes drifted shut.

"Narcissa?"

With a start and a gasp Narcissa roused herself once more.  Lucius had returned to her after all.  He was kneeling by the side of the bed staring at her.  The unease in his voice was nothing to the blatant worry she could read in his gaze.  He wasn't trying to hide it from her; he probably didn't think she was mindful enough to understand him.

"Draco?" she breathed.  The word was a mere sigh; she was unable to convey the desperation still gnawing at her.

"Draco's fine.  He's asleep.  Everything's fine," replied Lucius stiltedly.  

Narcissa's relief was short lived; her lips twitched in what would have been a bitter smile if only she could have managed it.  'Everything's fine, except me,' she thought, finishing her husband's sentence for him.  'What possible use am I to him in this state?' Narcissa wondered.  

This irrational fear clawed at her heart.  It tore open the box containing all of her secret doubts, which she had managed to lock away the night before.  She had lost herself and her senses in her husband's ardent embrace.  His body might hunger for her, but that was nothing more than animal lust, she reflected grimly.  He had once craved Isabelle in just the same way.  The thought of Lucius, _her_ Lucius, passionately entwined with another woman was enough to make Narcissa retch!  She buried her head in the pillows and moaned softly.  Why was she letting herself fall apart?

A warm, steady hand coaxed her out of hiding while another was pressed against her forehead, as Lucius checked for a fever.  Narcissa swallowed a second moan.  He could bestow or withhold such pleasure with those hands!  Why had this had to happen to her now?  When the picture of his old lover: beautiful, vibrant and dignified, had to be so fresh in his mind.  

Narcissa couldn't help but notice that Lucius had grabbed his black dressing gown from their room.  It was knotted loosely around his waist.  So, he would not even get into bed with her now!  Had she lost that appeal already?  

The silence between them dragged out, twisted and redoubled upon itself, before Lucius finally spoke.

"Can you move?" he asked quietly. 

A confused frown perched itself on his wife's brow.  Lucius seemed to take her continued silence as a no.  He picked up her own white night robe, which she hadn't noticed he'd brought and proceeded to dress her like a child.  

"Don't-" Narcissa begged stiffly.  She cringed at this further loss of dignity, but Lucius brushed aside her protest without a thought.  However, she was amazed by the care with which he completed his task.  She had expected irritation and impatience on her husband's part, but he treated her instead with what she haltingly recognised as…compassion.  How could he stand to touch her?  He didn't need to do this.  She knew a flick of his wand would clothe her, but for some strange reason he ignored this simple solution.  His actions seemed to suggest that he actually _wanted_ to share this primal, physical contact with her. 

Perhaps Narcissa had guessed the truth.  Lucius was aware that he was forgetting the boundaries.  It had been so long since he had seen Narcissa truly vulnerable that he could not hold back.  He hesitated for only a few seconds before drawing the crumpled body of his wife into his arms.  It was as if every tender gesture he'd ever secretly shown her in the depths of the night had been a rehearsal for this very moment.  He tucked the damp strands of hair falling across her ashen face behind her ears before lifting her off the bed completely.  He heard her gasp.  Was it in surprise or pain? Lucius couldn't tell nor would he ask. 

He could feel her melting in his arms.  She was trying to resist him, but they both knew for once she was utterly at his mercy.  Narcissa's own instincts to conceal her feelings were useless to her now.  Eventually she too surrendered to the strange spell affecting them, and rested her golden head against the muscles of her husband's shoulder, as he made to carry her out of the room.  

Lucius knew that two great, painted eyes were following their every movement.  For a single moment, his own gaze fell hatefully on the portrait of the red dragon.  He could feel the censure radiating from the beast's yellow glare.  He would not be blamed for Narcissa's choices… 

All the same, Lucius vowed that he would fix whatever was wrong.  The occurrences of the day before, the week before, the month before, all faded into obscurity; Lucius was no fool, he knew the void his life would become without Narcissa.  As if she had caught a distorted echo of his thoughts, Narcissa squirmed slightly.  

"Yesterday-" she murmured listlessly.  

"Forget it," he ground out through clenched teeth.  It was forgotten, annulled, but for one brief, fleeting moment Lucius did wonder, uncharitably, if this whole incidence was an elaborate hoax of his wife's design, aimed to make him forgive and forget her transgression.  'No,' he banished the thought.  Narcissa would rather die than willingly demean herself in such a manner.

"But-" he heard her argue in weak disbelief.  

Narcissa couldn't work out the logic behind his actions, especially in light of what had happened the day before!  If he was still angry, as he surely was, then she had handed him the perfect opportunity to take his revenge!  She had disgraced herself.  What finer weapon could Lucius ask for?

"I said, forget it.  It doesn't matter now."  Lucius' voice was growing harder and colder.  The words were clipped and short.  It was not in his nature to pardon anyone.

Narcissa moved her head to look at him; she was so confused!  What was he saying?  It had to be a trick; Lucius Malfoy did not _give_ his forgiveness away!  Before she could find the energy to speak she realised that he was putting her down.  

If she had possessed the strength Narcissa knew she would have held onto him.  'If only your strength was akin to his,' whispered a defeatist voice inside her head.  She hadn't noticed that he had carried her to their bedroom, and was now placing her on their bed.  It welcomed Narcissa like an old friend, reassuring and familiar.  She found it strangely comforting.  Her body was recovering, it was taking place slowly, but her faculties were returning.  With those faculties returned her acute pride and shame.

Narcissa was weary of confusion, but she still didn't understand, she had been so very sure that something was sinisterly wrong!  She could still taste traces of the awesome fear that had woken her!  But what now, she would dismiss it all, if it were not for the weakness still sapping her strength and will!

"What just happened, Lucius?" she whispered reluctantly, a little encouraged by the fact she was able to string a whole sentence together.  

"Nothing," Lucius replied, stubborn denial clouded his face.  

He pulled a chair from the corner of the room over to the bed and sat down.  Narcissa watched him through her own exhaustion, as she sank down into the pillows.  Was he going to sit there and watch over her for the remainder of the night?  A bubble of pure warmth grew within Narcissa.  Starting in the centre of her body it expanded until she tingled to the very tips of her fingers and toes. 

"Go to sleep," he commanded.

"Lucius," Narcissa argued gently, with a small smile.  She didn't have the strength for a more forceful approach, but so rarely did she see this side of his personality that most of the time she convinced herself it didn't exist!

"It was nothing," repeated Lucius, "just another nightmare," he growled, not noticing his blunder, but his wife did. She blinked slowly; her head was starting to spin.

"_Another_ nightmare?"

Lucius' tired gaze shot back to Narcissa's suddenly pensive face.  She was watching him very closely.  'How did she do that?' he marvelled crossly.  She was in a state of defenceless vulnerability, and yet she still had the wit to take advantage of his mistakes! 

"Go to sleep," he muttered mutedly, for a second time.

"What did you mean, Lucius?" Narcissa pressed.  Her voice was fragile and her features pale. Still, there was a glint of her typical determination beneath her frailty.  Lucius ran a hand over his brow before answering.

"I may not be as light a sleeper as you, but it is hard to share a bed with someone night after night and fail to hear their screams terror while they thrash around beside you," he replied cuttingly.  He would not be made to feel stupid!  Narcissa blushed, and it was all the more noticeable given the earlier pallor of her cheeks.  Heat coloured her skin, but inside a sudden chill doused her and stole her inner glow.

"I see," she swallowed bowing her head, but after a moment she raised her eyes defiantly.  "You are wrong though," she murmured.  "My nightmares are only echoes of the past.  This was different.  I feared it was-" her voice was slow, reluctant and eventually trailed off completely.

"You feared it was what?" demanded Lucius impatiently.  He looked forbidding and it was clear he was in no mood for half voiced riddles.

"A Fetch."  Narcissa lowered her gaze, and her voice trembled as she spoke.  Lucius tensed visibly, he knew enough about the old lore to know that a person's Fetch was the herald of their death.

"You are not a Seer, Narcissa," he reminded her.  The calmness of his voice belied his internal unease.

"No," she agreed with a tiny nod, and she relaxed slightly.  "You're right."  Her tiredness was beginning to catch up with her.  Slowly, as if she was still fighting it, her eyes drifted shut.  Lucius was safe, Draco was safe; it was as Lucius said - nothing - merely the stress of the night before overflowing into her unconscious mind.

Lucius kept his eyes trained upon his wife.  She was succumbing to the allures of slumber, and he was left alone to maintain his vigil.  He had done this before.  His body ached for sleep but he would not yield.  Narcissa may not believe she had the Sight, but whatever he might say, Lucius had his doubts; after all her oldest ancestors had all possessed it…

…Narcissa Varvara had an ancestry that secretly fascinated Lucius Malfoy.  Until the night he had seen her at the Glass Slipper he had been forced, because of the beliefs of his father, his friends, Isabelle's beliefs, to dismiss the rumours concerning her family as nonsense.  Something subtle had changed that night; she had walked into the restaurant like a queen from a bygone age and revealed proof of her true identity.  She was the granddaughter of an inventor, but she was a descendant of royalty.  The mere conception of that fact should have been enough to earn her Lucius' contempt.  Her blood was mixed with that of the oldest monarchs of Britain, making it purer than his own, but for some unnameable reason he couldn't shake the hold she had on him!  Like a connoisseur taking pleasure in another's work, he was _proud_ of her heritage!  The sheer idea was lunacy!  Damn her to Hades, she had bewitched him!

Lucius suspected, somewhat uneasily, that had he never learnt her name, had she always remained 'the nameless blonde Slytherin' he'd met at Hogwarts, Narcissa would still have haunted his thoughts.  He couldn't decide what it was that gave her such an unforgettable air.  He had seen it affect Lestrange too.  Most men it would seem were susceptible to her, they gathered at her side like bees around a honey pot, but she remained unmoved, detached…untouchable. 

'That was the key,' realised Lucius abruptly: she had made herself unobtainable.

He was walking alone through Diagon Alley on an errand of his own, a few days after seeing Narcissa at the restaurant.  His stride was marked with a limp so slight it was barely noticeable.  Lucius, of course, was keenly aware of this defect.  After taking dinner at the 'Slipper he and Lestrange had indulged in a spot of Muggle baiting; Lucius had thought it might prove a welcome diversion after the distractions of the evening.  

They had gone to one of the Muggle 'motorways', where Lestrange enjoyed jinxing the passing cars, causing their drivers to lose control of their vehicles.  Lucius found this more entertaining during the daytime, when the roads were busier and the subsequent crashes larger.  He had not really been paying much attention; he was in a foul mood with Lestrange and his thoughts were quick to wander.  So, when a huge articulated lorry ploughed through the crash barrier they'd been standing behind he hadn't had much time to react.

The broken bone in his leg Lucius had fixed easily enough, but he suspected that there was some muscle or tissue damage that was beyond his skill to heal.  Luckily he knew a discreet healer based near Diagon Alley, who wouldn't ask too many questions if the right price was paid.  

Letting his mind dwell on that bloody woman was not a mistake he wanted to repeat, but as hard as he tried to curb them, his thoughts continually wandered in her direction!  For the reason that, despite the frigid mask she often used, Lucius was aware that Narcissa had always looked at him with something more than cool indifference.  Sceptically, he also knew this was not a sign of any genuine attachment on her part; he was not blind to his assets, he was a wealthy, aristocratic man, attractive enough, with his failings well hidden.  Yet, so was Lestrange…and Narcissa had dismissed Rodolphus with less consideration than she had young Barty Crouch! 

The memory of Lestrange, infamous for his womanising, for once failing to win the affections of his target still brought a perverse smile to Lucius' face.  He had caught a glimpse of the contempt Rodolphus had earned himself in her eyes.  The way he had touched her, tainted her, still rattled Lucius.  Why did he let her affect him like this?  He had been _furious_ with Rodolphus, and even angrier with _himself_ for feeling that way!  It was not Narcissa's fault he had nearly been crushed beneath a Muggle lorry; it was his own.  What could he do to exorcise her from his mind?  She haunted him, and worryingly, over the last few days, the Pendragon crest had also begun to trouble his thoughts for reasons he couldn't determine.  

He was just about to force his thoughts down a different path when, by the most unlikely coincidence imaginable, something akin to her necklace presented itself to him.  In the window of a shop that he must have walked by a hundred times in his life sat a painting.  Lucius stopped walking, and stared at a red dragon caged in a golden picture frame.  Curiosity trapped him, so casually he retraced his steps and entered the little shop.  

It was rather dusty inside and the light was fairly poor.  Lucius strolled over to the counter, careful to hide his niggling injury, as the numerous portraits hanging on the shop's walls watched him closely.  The old shopkeeper who was minding the store looked at him suspiciously, surprised perhaps to have such a distinguished customer.

"Can I help, sir?" he wheezed.

"You've a painting in your window I'm rather interested in," drawled Lucius coolly.

"Which one, sir?" the man asked.  Lucius noticed that the shopkeeper's shoulders were somewhat hunched and he walked with something of a stoop.  The old man moved out from behind the counter to serve his customer.

"The dragon."

"Oh, the dragon," breathed the shopkeeper gruffly, stopping beside Lucius.  "Draco, his rightful Latin name, suits him better I think."

"Fascinating," remarked Lucius snidely, but the old man continued.

"The dragon is the same as the serpent, you know.  A symbol of wisdom; a Druidical symbol," he said slowly.  "But what do you know of _this_ dragon?"

Lucius narrowed his resolute eyes, was this some kind of a test?

"I know I have seen the shadow of its form only once before," he began cautiously, echoing slightly the remark Lestrange had made to Narcissa, "on the pendant of a woman's necklace."

"Now that is interesting," said the man, his eyes glowing hungrily.  "Then you probably know this painting is of the Pendragon, 'Greatest Dragon', who graced the banners of Uther, father of King Arthur?"

"Who was in turn the half brother and lover of Morgan le Fay?  Or so the stories go," remarked Lucius calmly.

"Ah yes, Morgan le Fay, or rather 'Morgaine of the Fairies'."

"You are learned in many tongues, old man," commented Lucius shrewdly.

"Mmm," nodded the shopkeeper, seeming suddenly reluctant to speak.   "A hobby nothing more, besides all of which I speak is just forgotten myth and legend."

"Then you will not mind parting with the painting," pressed Lucius harshly.  His sudden irrational need to possess it was overwhelming.

"We won't mind at all, Mr Malfoy," said a new voice from the back of the shop.  Lucius turned around, his eyes blazed as they felt upon a familiar face.

"Snape," he hissed, "you have the most unsettling habit of appearing in the most unlikely places."

Severus Snape smiled slowly and bowed his greasy head, as if he had just received a compliment of the highest order…

…Lucius refocused his tired eyes on Narcissa.  She was sleeping peacefully as the first hints of dawn began gathering outside.  He wondered if he dared discuss her latest episode with Snape.  The man was certainly intelligent.  At times he seemed to possess the answers to every question ever thought of, but Lucius' opinion of the Hogwarts Professor had decreased in recent years.  He no longer trusted Severus Snape.  The outside world didn't know this, Snape himself didn't know this, and Lucius was too weary to rethink the reasons behind his changed opinion.

He had summoned Snape to the Manor the previous evening to find out what he knew about Sirius Black's escape.  With his own, personal, knowledge of the prison it was very hard for Lucius to believe that Black could have escaped from Azkaban unaided.  And Lucius could think of only one person with the power and possible inclination, if he knew the truth, to free Black – Dumbledore.  

A few smooth, probing questions and Snape should have told Lucius everything he knew, if indeed he knew anything.  But Lucius had forgotten about Snape's own bitter history with Black, and after Isabelle's descent upon the Manor and then his row with Narcissa, Lucius had not been in the best frame of mind to practice gentle coercion.  Besides, Black's escape from Azkaban suddenly seemed terribly unimportant.

Lucius stood up, stretched his cramping limbs and decided to dress despite the early hour.  With a final glance at Narcissa he made to turn away when the soft padding of footsteps in the passage outside the bedroom caught his attention.  A confused frown covered his face.  Then realisation washed it away.  Draco was certainly going to extraordinary lengths to avoid him!  He was painfully aware that this sudden comprehension added its own weight to the wounds that had already been inflicted upon him in recent days.  

Draco crept through the dark corridors of the Manor as quietly as he could manage.  If only he could remember how to cast the silencing charm his mother had taught him!  It didn't _really_ matter, he supposed, because he didn't suspect for a moment that either of his parent's was awake.  He planned to take some food from the pantry and then lose himself in the grounds of the Manor for the day, or possibly, if the weather turned out bad, to visit Crabbe or Goyle, although he wasn't especially in the mood for company.  He couldn't avoid his father forever, but for the moment it seemed like the best idea.

Draco was quite sure that today was the day of the Macnair's party, therefore when his parent's were out that evening he'd be able to sneak back into the house.  Of course they'd notice he was gone, but he didn't imagine that they'd try to search for him.  His father would know why he was hiding, and no doubt his mother would rather he stayed out of the way.

In one of the downstairs halls of the Manor there stood a very impressive grandfather clock.  Just as Draco walked by it, it began to chime the hour.  He jumped, and then felt incredibly stupid.  Muttering darkly under his breath Draco carried on his journey towards the kitchens, listening absently as the five tolls were sounded out.  They didn't carry upstairs, but echoed heavily around the lower rooms.  Just as their ringing ceased two leaden booms filled the house.  

Draco span around; someone was pounding on the front door!  His heart was gripped with terror; his parent's enemies were far greater than him, a simple schoolboy!  The logical thought that they would not be knocking if they meant any harm touched Draco.  This was followed immediately by the realisation that this was not quite true; Ministry Officials did not blast their way into people's homes.  Was it possible some scheme of his parents' design had finally been successfully uncovered?  

Draco stood as still as a statue in the centre of the shadowy corridor.  He could feel the racing of his heart and hear his own breathing.  Whoever the caller was, they knocked again.  The door seemed to rattle on its hinges. Draco took an unwilling step towards the main hall and collided with the new maid, who'd just tiptoed out of a side passage.  It was her job to greet visitors, whatever the hour, but she looked even more terrified than Draco!

With a contemptuous glare at her Draco took a few more pride-driven steps towards the front door, but he stopped when he reached the base of the stairs.  The maid loitered reluctantly behind her young master as the person outside knocked a third time.  The noise seemed far too loud in the silence of the sleeping house!  The two of them stood watching the door, as if caught by the glare of a basilisk.

"I've been told it's customary to actually open doors when they're knocked upon," drawled a cold voice idly from the top of the stairs.

Draco turned on his heel and suffered the full force of his father's aloof stare as Lucius descended the staircase.  The perverse relief he found in knowing his father was present was strong enough to quash his dread of punishment.  Despite the poor light he also had time to notice that his father was already fully dressed and looking uncharacteristically tired.

"Go and sit with your mother, Draco," said Lucius, not unkindly.  He'd drawn his wand and was lighting the candles in the hall precisely.  "She's-" he hesitated, unable to hide his acute agitation from his son, "-feeling unwell."

Draco didn't need to be told twice.  He climbed the stairs, two steps at a time.  The mysterious visitor was forgotten; he believed his father was more than capable of taking care of anyone who might call.  What was filling Draco's heart with a new sense of alarm was the concept of his mother being ill.  He had never known his mother to be unwell!  She wasn't like the other rich women he knew of, who suffered regularly from fainting fits and nervous bouts of agitation; she was a Malfoy, resilient and unbreakable!

He simultaneously knocked on and pushed open the door to his parent's bedroom.  Narcissa was lying awake on her side of the double bed.  She turned her head gingerly; a few hours sleep hadn't healed her completely.

"Draco," she exclaimed with a smile, a _real_ smile, full of happy relief and love.  He _was_ safe!  "Who's at the door?" she asked, trying to sound casual and very nearly succeeding.  Draco shrugged his shoulders as he walked over to her uncertainly.  She looked pale and weary, but nothing worse than that.  Her eyes were still alert, looking at him in a puzzled fashion.  "And why are you dressed at this hour?" she murmured.  Her voice was fainter than normal too, Draco noticed anxiously.

"Father says you're sick," he blurted without thinking.  His mother raised a fine eyebrow.

"Is that what he says?" she muttered, more to herself than her son.  "Sit down, Draco," she said gently, patting the mattress bedside her.

"_Are_ you sick?" pressed Draco, his pale eyes wide and guilty.  What if it was something _he_ had done?  He knew he took his mother for granted.  He also knew he'd added to her stress lately.  "What's wrong?"

Narcissa looked at Draco, unsure of how to respond to his questions when she herself didn't really know the answers.  He looked so young, so insecure, just a normal boy desperately worried about his mother.  That was how she should have felt about Elaine, Narcissa belated realised.

"It's nothing to worry about," she said eventually.

"Do you need anything?  Can I get you something?" asked Draco, he didn't look wholly pacified, but the worst of his fears seemed to have been eased.  Narcissa laughed gently, was this considerate boy truly her Draco?

"I'm fine," she assured him kindly, sinking back into the pillows she was propped against.  She'd try to get up in a few minutes, and present a strong face to Lucius when he returned with news of their visitor; she just needed to collect herself first.

"I wonder who was at the door?" Draco pondered aloud, and there was a hint of nervous apprehension in his voice, as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.  

Narcissa didn't answer.  She had only let her eyes flutter shut for a couple of minutes when she heard Lucius' reappearance.  She and Draco turned to him expectantly.  Lucius had looked tired before, but now in the flickering candlelight he looked completely drained.  His face was set in a frighteningly grave expression.  Narcissa pushed herself off the pillows as she felt the foundations of her world rock; she had never known her husband look like this before!  She reached automatically for Draco's hand and he held hers back just as tightly.

"Lucius?" she whispered, fearing the silence, but also fearing to hear him speak.

"It's your mother," he said, and Narcissa instantly knew what was coming.  He had never been one to soften the blow of bad news.  "She's dead."

-


	14. Chapter Fourteen: HalfHidden Secrets

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.

Tainted Love

Chapter Fourteen: Half-Hidden Secrets

If silence could ever take a physical form, then in the instant following the announcement of Elaine Varvara's passing, it would have looked like a carnival's hall of mirrors: distorted, artificial and horribly surreal.  

Narcissa was still staring at Lucius; she could not stop.  His hard, cold gaze drilled into her as he waited for a reaction.  By his mother's side, Draco was projecting a softened imitation of his father's stare.  His hand was still linked with Narcissa's own.  She felt unbearably self-conscious under the weight of their combined scrutiny.  What were they expecting?  She had known this news would come.

Narcissa did not believe a person could prepare for death.  It was beyond all mortal comprehension.  Therefore, she had fearfully anticipated what her own feelings would be.  She was afraid that she might suddenly be hit by a wave of regret or sorrow…or even love, but when the moment came, all that she felt was the same old anger.  Elaine had let her down again.  Narcissa had hoped, so very desperately, that her mother would have one ace to play before her game was over, but there was no grand finale, no intrepid last stand, there was nothing.  

She expelled a bitter sigh; well at least _she_ was displaying a dignified front, casting a polished appearance of self-assurance, which countered the earlier display of weakness that she was still smarting from!

"So it was my mother's Fetch," she breathed, loosening her fingers and permitting Draco to gently reclaim his hand.  She glanced at her son fleetingly, finding his presence to be an unexpected comfort.  Once Narcissa was conscious of this fact, she tucked the knowledge away safely and then turned back to await her husband's response.

"You don't have the Sight, Narcissa," Lucius said crisply.  His tone made it clear that this was not a subject he wished to revisit.

"That is why I didn't know who the Fetch belonged to," Narcissa persisted, not heeding the warning tones in Lucius' tired voice.  "Why it was so distorted, so…violent," she added hoarsely.  

Narcissa winced at the memory and let her eyes flicker shut for a moment.  For the rest of her life she would be haunted by that wailing cry!  Why would the precursor of her mother's death appear to her?  Her gaze fell pensively on the blanket covering her lap.  What had Elaine suffered in her final moments to warrant such an omen?

"What's a Fetch?" Draco asked quietly.  He felt curiously privileged to be allowed to witness this strange adult conversation, but his father held up a hand to silence him.

"Now is not the time, Draco," he said brusquely.  He watched his son submit to the light reprimand and was reminded of the unfinished business that lingered between them, but kept his attention on his wife a moment longer.  "Will you go to the hospital?" he asked sharply.  

Narcissa looked up at him.  Her eyes were uncharacteristically blank.  

"Why?"

The harsh bluntness of her question took Lucius aback.  Was she feigning this sudden show of audacity for his benefit, or did she truly not care that Elaine was dead?  He couldn't quite believe it was the latter; he too had lost a mother.  Intuition, coupled with this experience, told him that Narcissa would be tormented by unanswered questions of her own if she missed this opportunity to lay some ghosts to rest.

Lucius refocused his gaze on his wife.  He was weary and letting his thoughts wander; Narcissa was still waiting expectantly for an answer to her question.  

"I think you should go," he advised slowly.

"Like this?" she exclaimed, as if Lucius had taken leave of his senses!  She would be mistaken for a patient if she went to St Mungo's in her current state.  "My father would love that!" Narcissa snarled under her breath.  She would not run the risk of seeing him.  "No, I will not go," she declared firmly.

"Very well," sighed Lucius casually, careful to hide his true feelings.  In light of her physical condition he suppressed the argument that a part of him still wanted to voice.  "Then take some rest.  I've some business to deal with."

A rapid reply began forming itself on Narcissa's tongue.  She didn't want to rest.  She wanted to _do_ something - anything - but a whisper of prudence reached her.  Lucius had been very good to her, _too good_.  She wouldn't cross him so soon after receiving his clemency.  Besides, a few moments alone might prove welcome after the news he'd brought her and give her time to think.  Narcissa bowed her head with the forced submissive air that always grated on her nerves.  She saw Lucius' satisfied nod, but missed the knowing smile he swallowed.

"Come, Draco," he said, his voice commanding.  "I think it's time we had a little chat."

Narcissa could sense Draco's body grow taut.  She felt for him, despite the injury he'd done her.  It was impossible for Narcissa to forget the way he had championed her the day before.  It was also impossible to forget the fear that had paralysed her when she'd thought he was in danger.  She watched him walk away from her towards his father.  His shoulders were slightly hunched as if in preparation to endure the coming of a storm.

"Lucius," she found herself saying.  Her husband's distant gaze fell upon her.  He suddenly seemed so indifferent, but his detached manner was still familiar and she believed it to be genuine.  It did not hide a deeper rage.  Lucius' anger, like himself, had been given time to cool.    The plea she was going to make on Draco's behalf no longer seemed necessary.  Lucius' eyes lingered on her, impatiently expectant.  "Thank you," she heard herself whisper instead.  The words felt unexpected and alien on her lips, and immediately triggered a torrent of disbelief!  She was as surprised by those two words of gratitude as Lucius himself, because for once in her life they were not part of a ploy or a trick.  She truly meant them.  Narcissa thought she saw her husband's aloof veil slip a fraction, but she couldn't be sure, as he chose this exact moment to turn his head away and open the door.  

Lucius ushered Draco out of the room, taking a moment to compose himself, before glancing back at Narcissa.

"Get some rest," he repeated the request, his voice husky with an emotion she couldn't quite place.  Her eyes pursued him as he followed their son, until she was staring foolishly at nothing but the white, painted wood of the door.

Hadn't she regained full control over herself yet?  Narcissa couldn't help but wonder.  She and her husband seemed to be teetering on the edge of something, and she didn't know whether to push forwards or pull back.  She _did_ however know the type of man her husband was, even if he was still able to surprise her from time to time with an unexpected action or a gesture.  Lucius Malfoy could be interrupted a hundred different ways, but that didn't change the facts.  He was an unstoppable force, cruel and ruthless, even if he was inexplicably dear to her.  He would find a way to take advantage of this situation.  She would do well to stop freely handing him weapons that he could turn against her!

Narcissa shook her head in self-loathing.  Elaine was dead.  It was high time she regained her composure!  She was all that remained of the le Fays.  The line would die with her, winning her some notoriety perhaps?  A sardonic smile tugged at Narcissa's mouth.  Long ago she had accepted that fate, she reminded herself.  Spurred on by this thought, Narcissa pushed off the bedclothes with a new surge of determination and tried to stand unaided.  She wobbled slightly as if she had not eaten in days, but caught hold of the bedside table and thankfully stayed vertical.  

The le Fay jewel would pass to her, she would at last bring something of worth to the Malfoy dynasty, and perhaps Lucius would finally reveal all that the Dark Lord had told him about the legendary gem?

Draco silently followed his father through the passageways of the Manor.  They seemed to be walking towards the small library that Lucius used in lieu of a study.  Once there, Lucius pushed the door open and entered the room, while Draco hovered in the doorway until his father noticed his hesitation.  Lucius raised one fractious eyebrow and lifted his eyes temporarily to the high ceiling.

 "Come in and shut the door," he ordered testily.

Draco reluctantly obeyed; he slunk inside the room and pulled the door closed.  Meanwhile, with a flick of his wand, Lucius drew back the heavy curtains to let in the dawn, then turned back to his son.  He folded his arm loosely across his chest and regarded Draco silently for a few moments.

"Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Lucius asked rhetorically, each word was cool and sharp.  Much had happened since the day before, when Isabelle had revealed that Narcissa had taken Draco to St. Mungo's against his will.  Lucius clenched his jaw.  The pair of them had happily lied to him for weeks about this outing!

"I'm sorry, father."  Draco mumbled the apology into his chest.

"Sorry you were caught," Lucius countered mercilessly.  

Draco raised his eyes for a moment.  His father noticed that they were the washed-out grey of an overcast sky and was reminded that the last twenty-four hours had not been easy for any of them, least of all his son, who was little more than a child.  He had a habit of forgetting that fact.

"Sit down, Draco," said Lucius stiffly, as he took a seat himself.  

Draco settled tensely onto the edge of a chair opposite the desk that Lucius was seated behind and waited for his father to speak again.  What kind of punishment would he receive for lying to his father?  Fear of finding out the answer to that question had kept him awake for most of the night!

Lucius appeared in no hurry to end his son's misery.

"You know, there is still one thing I don't quite understand regarding this little _conspiracy_ you and your mother were carrying out behind my back," he admitted with slow deliberation.  His words were icy, and chilled his son to the very bone.  He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and arched his fingers, as his wintry eyes glittered formidably.  "Forgive me, Draco," he continued slyly, "but I find it difficult to believe that you _wanted_ to visit your grandmother for the sheer sake of it," Lucius reasoned innately, "therefore I'm forced to wonder, what was in this for you?"

Draco gulped and considered his options.  He immediately encountered a problem.  There seemed to be only one option open to him: a truthful confession.

"A Firebolt," he muttered reluctantly, as he stared blankly at the floor.

"A Firebolt?" Lucius repeated, openly surprised.  He cleared his throat to hide a short laugh.  That must have incensed Narcissa, what with her irrational hatred of everything Quidditch related!  He very much doubted she'd banked on buying her son a brand new broomstick when she set this scheme in motion.  "And this was your mother's suggestion?" he couldn't help asking with curious smile.

"Not exactly," admitted Draco cautiously, amazed to hear a thread of amusement in his father's voice. 

"Ah, I see," murmured Lucius softly, finally grasping the full truth.  Evidently Narcissa had not had the easiest of times managing their son.  The fact that Draco could prove to be a handful was encouraging, and the fact that it had been Narcissa who'd had her hands full was highly amusing!

Lucius leant back pensively in his chair.  It was dawning on him that he couldn't very well pardon Narcissa and then punish Draco; whether she had been blackmailed or not, his wife was clearly the instigator of this offence.  He could hold onto this grudge, until the shock waves of his mother-in-law's death ceased to be felt, and then take his revenge.  Indeed, if he had been wronged by anyone bar his wife and son then that was the course of action he would have happily followed, but blood binds.  Clearly circumstances had taken the matter out of his hands.  Within himself Lucius already knew that he had decided to overlook his son's folly.

"I confess, Draco," he began slowly, carefully weighing each word, "despite my better judgement I am actually quite impressed by your ingenuity," he said, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief.  Draco raised his eyes, hardly daring to breathe.  "So, we will mark this unpleasantness down to experience and forget it."  Lucius paused briefly to let his son fully appreciate the meaning of his words.  "However," he cut in, before Draco had a chance to look too gleeful, "if you lie to me again you will live to regret it, I promise you that," Lucius swore darkly.  

Draco swallowed.  His father's last warning seemed to have turned his blood to ice, but he nodded in understanding.  Despite the overt threat he even felt considerably lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders!  He couldn't quite believe his luck, nor could he fully understand why his father was being so merciful.  A little black cloud suddenly blocked out Draco's sun.  Perhaps his mother's health was a lot worse than he'd feared?  His chest tightened painfully as his eyes flew questioningly to his father.  

The night before he had witnessed possibly _the_ worst argument he'd ever known his parents have, and this morning he'd woken up to find his mother confined to her bed.  Was that a coincidence or something more sinister?  Draco felt sick.  He had never before had any reason to believe his father might hurt his mother.  It did fit though: his mother's mystery illness, his father's strange willingness to forgive – caused by guilt perhaps?  

Thankfully, Draco quickly found a reason to stop this alarming train of thought; there was something wrong with the picture he was painting.  Some sixth sense told him that if his father raised so much as a finger against his wife then Narcissa would drag herself over broken glass to be rid of him.  Draco had observed his parent's intimate rapport that morning and had not noticed any change for the worse.  That probably explained why this disturbing explanation had only just occurred to him.  He had seen the same closeness, the same respect, the same odd glances that they hid from each other, but didn't think to hide from him.  He knew for certain that all of these things would have been lost forever if his father been the cause of his mother's pain.

Draco let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.  He'd laid that idea to rest, but he still didn't know what was wrong with his mother!  Lucius had risen from his chair, allowing his son to lose himself in the thoughts that had been ready to condemn him.  He was moving books on a shelf too high for Draco to see on top of, as if he was looking for something.  Draco squirmed in his seat.  Was he expected to stay or leave?  For once he didn't care; there was something he needed to know, because something else had just occurred to him.

"Father," he began hesitantly.  Lucius murmured uncommunicatively to show he was listening, although he didn't stop whatever it was that he was doing.  "What's wrong with mother?" Draco asked and this time he noticed that his father stilled completely.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," Lucius said evenly, but he kept his back to Draco, who was frowning, wholly unconvinced.

"That's what she said, but-"

"But what?" Lucius cut in sharply; he wasn't used to having his statements questioned by his son.  He turned around, momentarily giving up his search. 

"What did grandmother die of?" Draco asked quickly, while he still dared.  His grandmother was dead.  His mother was ill.  What if there was some connection?  His heart started doing an uncomfortable drum roll as this new thought occurred to him.

"I wasn't told," Lucius said curtly.  He hated not knowing the answers to his son's questions; it made him feel fraudulent as a father.  Wasn't he supposed to know everything?

"But then-" exclaimed Draco jarringly. "But then what if that's what's wrong with _mum_?"

Once again Lucius stopped what he was doing.  It had been _years_ since he'd heard Draco call Narcissa anything less formal than "mother".  He narrowed his eyes and looked closely at his son, but Draco didn't even seem to realise that he'd said anything out of the ordinary.

"I think that unlikely," reasoned Lucius slowly.  He balled one hand into a tight fist.  He would not let himself even consider any other scenario!  "Your mother is merely unwell."

"But she's _never_ unwell," asserted Draco stubbornly.

Sighing heavily Lucius sat back down.  He felt wrung out.  Draco's bond with Narcissa was so markedly different from the relationship he'd shared with his own mother that Lucius was strangely touched by the concern in his son's young eyes.  He hoped Narcissa had seen it too at some point.  He would hate to think that she considered herself similar to Elaine in that respect; she was not a bad mother!

"Upstairs, you asked what a Fetch was," Lucius reminded his son, feeling strange as he prepared to give information feely for once.  Draco nodded with a frown, failing to grasp the connection.  "Well that is what your mother believes has caused her ailments."

"A Fetch?" repeated Draco awkwardly.  "What's that?" he asked reluctantly, expecting his father to sneer at his ignorance, but Lucius did not look annoyed.  This was evidently not a subject that he expected his son to be well versed in.  Although Draco didn't know it, it was a book on the old teachings that Lucius had been looking for himself.

"A foreteller of death," he stated grimly, sending a shiver down Draco's spine.  "I understand it is usually an apparition of the person whose death it heralds."  

Draco was still frowning, trying to follow his father explanation.

"So mother had a vision of grandmother's death?" he volunteered hesitantly.

"Not so much a vision as a-" Lucius broke off.  He was being more open with Draco than usual, but he wasn't about to confess the whole truth to the boy.  "It doesn't really matter.  However, _that_ and not some mystery illness, is what's wrong with your mother," he finished briskly.  

Before Draco could question him any further Lucius swiftly changed the conversation's direction.  "Now then, I have a job for you," he said promptly.  Draco started and suddenly looked very unsure of himself.  His father did not normally delegate tasks.  "I want you to keep an eye on your mother today," Lucius said seriously.  His eyes met his son's and silently impressed the significance of the request upon Draco.  Lucius did not plan to leave the house, but he couldn't keep a constant eye on Narcissa himself, she'd find that far too odd!

"All right," said Draco slowly.  His father had never asked anything like this of him before, he felt a sudden pressure but he also felt…less alone.  "But, I thought you said there was nothing to worry about?" he couldn't stop himself from adding nervously.

"No, I said there was nothing for _you_ to worry about," Lucius corrected him deftly as he stood up and walked towards the door.  His son followed, some of the anxiety had returned to his face.  "If anything should happen I will deal with it," finished Lucius, exuding the same typical aura of confidence he always did, without internally knowing how he could justify these claims if called to do so.  He hated to admit it, but he was relying upon Narcissa's sheer obstinacy to pull her through.

Draco nodded mutely, while noting that the grandfather clock was just starting to chime six o'clock.  Together father and son walked back to the foot of the stairs.  Lucius watched Draco hesitate before taking the first step.

"I won't know what to say to her," murmured Draco quietly.

Lucius stood behind his son and rested a light hand on his shoulder, before gently coaxing him up the stairs.  He silently agreed with Draco's sentiments.  He had not wanted to be the one to tell Narcissa that her mother was dead.  Never had he once dreamt that the task would fall to him.  When he faced Narcissa again he knew he would not be able to mourn for Elaine.  For only one thing was Lucius sorry - that they would be dragged, however briefly, back into the world Narcissa had fought so long to escape…

…It had been Midsummer's Eve when he'd entered that world, her _real_ world.  For the first time in his life Lucius had found himself looking up at Cotehele.  The strong walls of granite and slate looked indestructible.  For almost five hundred years they had stood firm and seemed to profess that they would continue to do so for another five hundred to come.  The late sun sent a somewhat mystical light down to bathe the Cornish estate, sunbeams danced in between the growing shadows, draping the house and grounds in both darkness and light.

"What am I doing here?" he asked himself, and not for the first time.  The answer to this question was not exactly simple.  It wound its way back to Severus Snape.  Lucius had spoken briefly to the boy, the day he had been discovered by him in the old painting shop.  The memory of the discussion they'd shared came back to haunt him.  He should have known better than to lead the conversation down the path they'd travelled, but Narcissa Varvara had been so very fresh in his mind that day…

_"You said it was obvious my father had never been to Cotehele," Lucius had ventured slowly.  "What did you mean by that?"_

_"Did I say that?" remarked Snape innocently._

_"You know you did.  Don't play games with me." The warning had been dark and genuine, and had not gone unheeded._

_"It's just, there's a very fine ancestry on display at Cotehele.  You seem interested in that kind of thing, you should go and take a look."_

_The slur had not gone unnoticed by Lucius either.  He had not had the opportunity to attempt to buy Snape's silence on the matter of the Pendragon painting.  He had however quickly learnt that it was Snape's uncle who owned the dusty little shop.  Lucius had contemplated subtly pointing out that if word of his purchase should get out then it would be all too easy to relieve this relation of his business._

_"I could just descend upon the Varvara's I suppose?" he remembered sneering sarcastically._

_"Not exactly," had been Snape deliberate reply.  "I've got to escort Narcissa to this thing of your father's," he sniffed distastefully.  He would never enjoy parties!  "You could go then."_

_"How is it that you are on such an intimate footing with that girl, Snape?" Lucius had found himself asking, none too carefully.  Snape had blinked his disconcerting black eyes and answered with a smug smile._

_"I listen to what she has to say.  She tired a long time ago of being seen but never heard."_

That conversation had supplied the means, but not the motive.  Isabelle had unwittingly provided that herself.  A smirk graced Lucius' mouth; Isabelle had used the guise of his father's ridiculous party to set herself up in semi-permanent residence at the Manor, insisting upon helping Cassius arrange the whole thing!  The situation was rapidly grating on her lover's nerves, so much so that he had come to enjoy creating minor annoyances for her.  For instance, he knew that she would be dressed in red this evening - a fact that had been impressed upon him several times - Lucius was well aware that he was expected to do the utterly preposterous and wear something to compliment her, so feeling contrary he'd chosen a bottle green cravat to offset the otherwise black dress robes he was wearing.

It needled him, this stifling clinginess.  He couldn't stand it!  Women had tried to make themselves indispensable to Lucius before.  He doubted that Miss Zabini would experience more success than her predecessors.  Isabelle could play the role of dutiful hostess, she could even _play_ at being Mrs Malfoy, but that would not bring it into being!  She was getting far too presumptuous for Lucius' liking, arriving with Narcissa seemed the perfect way of putting her back in her place. 

So, Lucius found himself standing at the end of Cotehele's drive on Midsummer's Eve waiting for Snape to arrive.  The scent of the well-tended gardens mingled with the distance babble of flowing water, creating a potion to soothe the senses.  He supposed his behaviour wrong; he was taking advantage of both Isabelle and Narcissa, but his guilt was easily ignored.  Isabelle was starting to expect things he was not willing to give.  

As for Narcissa, he did feel a slight pang, a vague unease, where she was concerned.  She had done nothing to deserve his misuse, but still, surely she knew whom she was dealing with?  He had even warned her…  He would never be prepared to change his life to suit her.  He would not change what he was - a dark wizard, a Death Eater.  Lucius stifled this line of thought; he had not shared the darkest of his secrets with Isabelle, why was he even _considering_ baring his soul to Narcissa?  Other women had caught his fancy before, it had never lasted, and he had no real reason to think Miss Varvara was any different.  Lucius was feeling better on this score; he felt he had made sense of her in the last few days and now it was just a matter of time until he worked her out of his system.  Coming to Cotehele was part of that; he needed to see the real Narcissa and take her off the pedestal he'd placed her on.  

"Here already?" hissed a voice that suddenly appeared by his side.  Lucius didn't even flinch; he'd been expecting Snape to make one of his typical Houdini appearances.

"I'd stop doing that if I were you," he drawled pleasantly enough.  "Unless you aren't especially particular about retaining the use of your tongue?" he added with an acid smile.

Snape held up his hands submissively.  He was dressed in dark navy blue dress robes, and his greasy hair was slicked back.  He nodded humbly and then indicated that they should walk up the stone path to the house.  Lucius followed with a self-satisfied smile.  A pathetic looking House Elf met them after they'd knocked on the large wooden front door.

"My master bids me to say – 'no visitors shall be admitted to Cotehele tonight,' sirs," it squeaked in its high, screechy little voice.  Lucius and Snape exchanged a quick glance.

"Hospitable place," Lucius remarked dryly. 

"Where's Narcissa?" Snape asked the Elf impatiently

The creature appeared rather flustered by this question.

"Miss Narcissa is…unable to- Miss Narcissa is unavailable at present," the Elf finished in a panic.

Lucius felt the uneasy prickling of some indistinguishable feeling, a feeling that would take him years to correctly identify and label as concern.  He brushed passed the tiny House Elf and entered Cotehele, Snape following close behind.  The Elf erupted into splutters of protest.

"Sirs can't come in!  Sirs must go!"

"Why don't you try and make us," snarled Lucius viciously, barely moving his lips as he hissed the words.  

The House Elf whimpered pitifully and soon the sound of footfall joined its snivelling sobs.  Lucius turned to greet the owner of the footsteps.  His eyes travelled briefly over the grand entrance hall.  Evening light flooded into the lofty room.  It danced through sheets of stained glass set in the high windows, mottling the marble floor with splashes of colour.  It was then, suffused in a rainbow, that Lucius' eyes first fell on Narcissa's family tree.  His feet took a half step towards it.  His eyes tried to drink in every detail but failed, for a voice spoke softly from the corner of the room.

"If you're looking for Narcissa, I'm afraid she's not here."

As Lucius turned around his eyes fell upon a women.  For briefest moment he almost thought it _was_ Narcissa, but she was older, much older, shorter too and her waist thicker, but beauty still embraced her.  Yet, there was something wrong with the image before him.  It took Lucius a moment to discern what was amiss.  The eyes that were set in this beautiful doll's face were unbearably faded.

"Mrs Varvara," said Snape with a small nod, but she hardly acknowledged him.  Her deadened eyes were locked on Lucius, or they would have been if she could only bring herself to meet his hard stare, her gaze lingered somewhere just behind his left shoulder.  An indistinguishable shout suddenly made her recoil.

"Forgive me," she said breathlessly.  "You _cannot_ stay here.  I must-"

What Elaine Varvara felt she must do Lucius never did find out; she never finished her sentence, but was interrupted by another distant bellow.  Like a ghost she darted down one of the corridors leading off from the main hall towards the sound.  

Lucius ignored her plea for them to leave and followed, closely pursued by Snape, who was voicing some objection that Lucius also chose to disregard.   She had lied.  Lucius was not a great master of Legilimency, but even he could peel back the first layers of mind as weak as hers.  What he intended to find out was why she had lied about Narcissa.

The House Elf shouted a few words of protest, but vanished with a little cry when Lucius rounded on him brandishing his wand dangerously.  They followed the sound of Elaine's quick footsteps, passing through corridors lined with rich tapestries and fine portraits as the noises became less indistinct.  It seemed to Lucius to be an argument.  He watched Elaine duck into a room but she hovered nervously on its outskirts, while unseen to her Lucius and Snape remained silently in the doorway.

It was a huge chamber, long but almost vacant: an old ballroom.  Chairs and tables were stacked neatly around its edges.  Two great chandeliers hung from the high ceiling.  They were glowing, not through candles, but because of some ethereal light.  Down the centre of one of the long walls was an imposing stone fireplace, lit despite the warmth of the evening, and before the fireplace stood two people.

The last time Lucius had seen Narcissa she had been dressed in white, virginal and innocent. The gown she wore now was rich, bold and daring.  A close-fitting corset of black velvet formed the bodice of the sleeveless dress.  Its low neckline was intricately embroidered with a silver twist, while folds of emerald satin fashioned the skirt.  Swath-like cuts in the front of material revealed a black petticoat beneath the satin finish.  Her hair was swept back from her face, leaving her shoulders and back completely bare.  She looked, quite simply, breathtaking.

Narcissa was standing across the room from Lucius, opposite her father.  Adrian Varvara was taller than his daughter.  He was broader, his hair dark to her light.  For some strange reason, Lucius had the unprecedented urge to march straight across the room and place himself between this man and Narcissa.  He quickly suppressed this peculiar desire, and contented himself with lingering in the shadows to listen to the argument in progress.

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear?  You will _not_ be going to the _Malfoy's_ party!" he spat the name as if it were bile choking him.  The insult embedded itself within Lucius, lying there to fester.  "I will not have my daughter parading around looking like some common whore!" Adrian continued furiously before lashing out at Narcissa with his fist.

She took a quick step backwards and managed moved her face out if his reach, but for once his aim was poor and his fingers caught on the fine chain hanging around Narcissa's throat.  The force of his futile blow ripped the necklace clean off her neck.  A tiny jolt coursed through Narcissa's body as the chain tore into the delicate skin of her neck, scoring a red line and freeing a trickle of blood.

Lucius had wanted to hurt Frank Longbottom for harming Narcissa.  

He wanted to kill Adrian Varvara.  

This rage was different to anything he'd ever felt before; as absurd as it sounded, he actually wanted to protect her.  Lucius took one step into the room, but a hand on his arm broke this valiant spell.  Snape was shaking his head, looking grim but utterly unfazed.

"She won't thank you for interfering," he said softly. 

The necklace had hit the hard floor with a gentle chink.  Narcissa raised a hand instinctively to her throat, while her eyes fell on the Pendragon pendant.  She had worn it for Lucius, hoping against hope that he just _might_ remember it from the night he'd seen her at the Glass Slipper.  She made a motion to retrieve it, but her father, seeing that this locket was obviously dear to his daughter, pulled out his wand and said swiftly:

"_Accio necklace_."  The pendant flew to his outstretched hand.  "If you want this back you'll send an owl to the Malfoys excusing yourself," he sneered smugly.

From where he stood Lucius noticed Elaine clutch the wall for support, but standing opposite her father Narcissa did not baulk.  She lifted her head and stared at him defiantly.  Her hands were clenched tightly by her sides.

"I will send no owl," she stated blankly.

Adrian seemed to swell with rage.  He hurled the pendent into the lit hearth, watching with vicious satisfaction as the red flames erupted into a purple inferno as they devoured the strange metal of the Pendragon.  Elaine let out a stifled cry that made Lucius wonder if the necklace had once been hers.  She hid her face in her hands.

Narcissa looked, not afraid, but outraged.  Her fingers were twitching as if in longing for her wand, but she didn't draw it.  This puzzled Lucius.  The sobs that Elaine was no longer able to stifle finally drew her daughter's attention.  As her eyes scanned the room to find the source of the noise they fell on Lucius and Severus for the first time.  A look of mingled surprise and fury fused itself on her face, rendering her momentarily motionless.  When Adrian noticed where her attention lay, he did not waver for so long.  He drew his wand again and fixed it on the two young men, who mimicked this action.  

Out of the corner of his eye Lucius watched as Narcissa felt for her own wand, concealed beneath the folds of her dress, as her eyes flitting between him and her father, and occasionally Severus.  With a bitter sigh she withdrew the sliver of rosewood and pointed it towards her own father.  

Lucius felt a wholly new sensation engulf his very soul.  She had sided with him against her own blood no less!

"Narcissa, don't!" her mother cried, distraught.  Adrian could not cover all three of them.  He shifted his eyes from Lucius to his daughter.  Her hand was perfectly steady, while her eyes blazed like the coals that had swallowed her necklace.

"If you dare to disobey me, I'll see your life's made a living hell, girl!" Adrian swore wildly, spit flying from his mouth as he lowered his wand.  "Walk out of this house tonight and you won't even be able to crawl back in!"  He turned and stormed out of the room through a little side door along from the fireplace.  

With his departure the oppression in the air of the ballroom lifted.  Lucius watched mutely as Narcissa drew a few deep breaths.  Her eyes lingered momentarily on her weeping mother, before she turned again to face him.  He could see the anger dancing across her features as she crossed the room towards Snape and himself.  He had never known a woman harbour such fury before, and now that anger was directed at him.  He felt the same thrill as the hunter when confronted with the lioness, that same spark of excitement filled him – the taste of a worthy challenge.

Narcissa marched straight passed them.  Instinctively Lucius followed.  She led them back through the corridors to the main entrance hall without stopping, and then she pulled open the front door and kept walking.

"Narcissa," Lucius called after her, but she blanked him completely.  He quickened his pace to catch up with her.  "Narcissa wait!" he shouted, more forcefully.  He wanted some answers!  He had a _right_ to some answers!  

Lucius almost collided with her when, to his surprise, she obeyed.   Stopping dead she rounded on him furiously, but beneath that fury there lay something else.  She let out a little gasp when she realised just how close he was standing, and for a split second her mask slipped.  He could see every fleck of anguish imprinted upon her wide eyes and he could not bear it!  Lucius lowered his gaze, and again saw the enflamed red marks around her neck where the Pendragon had hung.  He reached out a hand to touch her, but she took a step back, her mask restored.

"You should not have come here!" Narcissa told him heatedly.  "I do not need you to take care of me!"

…No, as Narcissa was still fond of reminding him, he had never been designated her protector.  Lucius acknowledged this with a wry smile as he rubbed a hand over his weary eyes.  Frankly, it didn't matter that she had never asked this of him - that she had gone out of her way to prove her own strength - it was a duty he had voluntarily assumed and was now incapable of shirking.

He wandered away from the bottom of the staircase, through the still corridors and quiet rooms of the Manor until he found himself outside, where the grass was glistening with dew.  If Narcissa would not go to St. Mungo's, then he would write on her behalf.   He would indulge her denial for the time being, but they needed to know the details: exactly what had happened and what Adrian planned to do.

Lucius spent the entire morning attempting to execute these simple plans, but at every turn he was thwarted!  He'd flooed the hospital, sent countless owls, but the only responses he got were swamped in a deluge of bureaucracy.  Apparently Adrian had barred the hospital from discussing his wife's death with _anyone_.  This outlandish decision left Lucius highly suspicious and so, reluctantly, he left Narcissa in Draco's care and went to St. Mungo's in person.

After swiftly Apparating to the hospital once he'd settled on this course of action, Lucius made his way into the building's dreary foyer in the hope of finding _someone_ who could tell him _something_.  Of course, he did know one person who had claimed to be involved in his mother-in-law's treatment, but the image of having his fingernails ripped out was more attractive than the thought of appealing to Isabelle!

The sound of Lucius' sure footsteps, accompanied occasionally by the tap of his cane, were muffled by the bustling sounds of hospital life as he crossed St. Mungo's lobby.  Paying no heed to anyone or anything that crossed his path, he walked straight towards the main enquiry desk.  The man working there looked bored to tears, he raised his head uninterestedly only when Lucius was standing directly in front of him.

"How can I help, sir?" he yawned.  Through his own exhaustion, Lucius stared at the wizard coldly for a few moments, which seemed to have the desired effect of waking him up considerably.

"I wish to speak with someone concerning the death of a Mrs E. Varvara," Lucius stated at length.  The request sounded much more like a command when spoken by him.  The hospital clerk coughed a little and rearranged a few piecing of paper distractedly. 

"And your name is?" he enquired briskly.

"Lucius Malfoy."  

The clerk performed the quick double take that Lucius so often encountered when introducing himself.  It still managed to please and amuse him.  The man puffed himself up a little, and then shuffled through the neat paperwork on the desk before pulling out a file close to the bottom of the pile.  He flicked through this quickly, looked as if was about to say something, when a puzzled frown creased his forehead.

"Is something wrong?" Lucius drawled disdainfully.  He had not gone to the trouble of visiting the wretched hospital to be hindered again!

"I'm afraid, Mr Malfoy sir, I am unable to give you any information on that particular patient," the clerk said apprehensively.  

Lucius' sharp eyes narrowed a fraction.

"And why might that be?" he hissed dangerously.

"The deceased's spouse has forbidden it, sir," replied the man.  Lucius watched him swallow nervously, while his own temper flared.

"This is ridiculous!" he sneered furiously.  What was Adrian playing at?  Was he trying to be aggravating or did he actually have something to hide?  Narcissa had said that Elaine was terminally ill, what was there to conceal?  "You can't tell me anything?" Lucius snapped, glaring at the man behind the desk as if everything was his fault.

"No, sir," said the wizard with surprising firmness.  "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm just doing my job," he added, spurred on by the belief that the conversation would very soon be over.

"How very gratifying for you," Lucius smiled nastily.  "Tell me then, what's _your_ name?"  

"M-my name?" stammered the man, paling very slightly.  Lucius nodded, the same malicious smile playing across his face.  "You know," said the clerk quickly, "I did hear that there was a patient on _Russell Ward_ who passed away this morning."  Lucius raised one innocent eyebrow.

"Did you now?" he drawled idly.  "How interesting," he smirked with a small nod, before turning away.

Russell Ward, that was something at least.  Lucius could feel his temper fraying; he was not accustomed to having so much difficulty uncovering such simple information!  He left the foyer behind and wove his way through the labyrinth of corridors that made up St. Mungo's, in the direction of the ward in question.

Lucius was walking down one of these busy corridors, vaguely appalled by the surroundings in which he found himself, when a horribly familiar roar of outrage made him stop.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy? I made it clear no one was to contact you!"

A rather perverse smile crossed Lucius' face as he turned around to face his father-in-law - for Adrian Varvara was the only person who would dare address Lucius Malfoy in such a manner.

"It's lovely to see you again too, Adrian," Lucius lied smoothly.

"Again?  What are you talking about?" snarled Mr Varvara.  Lucius continued to smile; the memory charm he'd used certainly seemed to have worked nicely, and his pleasant façade was clearing enraging Adrian. 

"I came to find out what's going on," he said lightly.  "I am curious as to why you feel the need for such secrecy concerning your wife's demise?"

"I have no wife," Adrian swore.  

Lucius tilted his blond head to one side ever so slightly.  This was predictable; this was what he had expected from Narcissa's father: no grief, no remorse, simply that old, ever-present anger.  It was the only emotion that Adrian seemed to be capable of feeling.

"No, well you never really deserved one, even the one you had," said Lucius silkily.

"I don't know what fantasy world you're living in boy, but you really no better off than me," snarled Adrian as he launched his attack.  "You'll end up the same, bitter and alone.  Don't delude yourself; Narcissa only married you to spite me!"

"You don't know as much as you think you do, old man," Lucius growled, struggling now to keep a leash on his temper.  He would _not_ give Adrian the satisfaction of seeing him truly riled!

"Gentlemen please!" exclaimed a healer, who had been walking with Adrian, and who up until this point had been watching the fiery exchange open-mouthed but silent.  "There are patients trying to rest nearby!"

The two wizards continued to glower at each other, as passers-by glanced at them nervously.  Pure unadulterated hatred was etched clearly on both of their faces. 

 If they had not been in the middle of a hospital corridor, if there had not been so many witnesses, if Lucius' promise to Narcissa did not bind his hands, then Adrian Varvara would not have long outlived his poor wife.  The contempt Lucius felt towards his father-in-law was almost palpable; it coursed through his veins like poison as Adrian's taunt resounded inside his head. '_Narcissa only married you to spite me_.'

-


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Midsummer's Eve

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread and inspired by Kirixchi.

Tainted Love

Chapter Fifteen: Midsummer's Eve

****

Witches and wizards tripped over themselves in a desperate attempt to get out of Lucius' way.  He stalked the corridors of St Mungo's like a cyclone.  '_Narcissa only married you to spite me_.'  His eyes shut involuntarily against the vivid memory of his father-in-law's venomous attack.  Impossible!  He knew his wife.  Spite alone would not drive Narcissa to break the shackles of one family only to take on the binds of another.  His footsteps slowed.  However, couple that spite with ambition, with desperation, with pure unadulterated hatred and Lucius' certainty faded to grey.  

The problem was this: Lucius could not honestly explain why Narcissa had married him…not entirely.

He stepped outside of the hospital, annoyed for having achieved nothing during his visit, and dragged a gloved hand distractedly through his hair.  _Why_ Narcissa had married him was immaterial.  Just as his reasons for wanting her as a wife had slowly evolved, he suspected her reasons for staying with him had also undergone a gradual change.  Still, he suddenly needed to understand those reasons with an urgency he'd never felt before!  There were so many events conspiring against him that he wanted one certainly in his life, and he wanted Narcissa to be that single constant.  Through trouble and strife she had stood loyally by his side, and that was something he'd never expected.  He'd lived the first twenty-two years of his life around women like Isabelle and his mother, faithless fickle false creatures, who cared for nothing but themselves.  Narcissa had entered his world and redeemed her sex.

Lucius began to walk away from the hospital, unintentionally allowing his mind to wander.  He could still picture himself sitting with Narcissa by the side of a Cornish river; on the day he'd asked her to marry him.  He could remember too the golden life he'd promised her then.  That life had very nearly been snatched away from both of them, but when that had happened, instead of fleeing from a sinking ship, Narcissa had stubbornly refused to surrender!  He knew no one comparable to her.  Perhaps one day he'd tell her exactly what it meant to him that she'd stayed?

**..ooOOoo..**

The solitude that Narcissa so desperately craved was not forthcoming.  She felt as if she was slowly being drowned, but just like water being held behind a dam Narcissa could not be contained forever.  All day she had been confined to the Manor's master bedroom, imprisoned by Draco and well-meaning servants.  Her frozen eyes stared bleakly into the full-length mirror that she was standing before.  She looked so very severe, like an old black and white photograph, and yet Narcissa knew that she was holding on to this fragile dignity by only her fingernails.  How many blows could she endure and keep standing?  '_It might be interesting to find out_,' she thought wryly.  Perhaps then she would find out how permanent a fixture of the Malfoy estate she actually was?

She raised her chin a proud fraction: a perfect bluff, and continued to critically regard her reflection.  Narcissa's aging handmaid, whom her mistress did not recall summoning, had taken it for granted that Mrs Malfoy would follow proper protocol after receiving the news of her mother's death.  Her mistress had not had the inclination to argue, and so for the first time in years Narcissa was clothed solely in black.  

It was late afternoon, and Narcissa still felt like a seamstress' dummy.  The stiff, rigid folds of the clothes themselves seemed to be all that held her together.  Her gaze fell on her clasped hands; she had allowed them to be imprisoned in their black gloves, but when her handmaid had approached her with a veil Narcissa had stopped her with a single look.

"_I will not hide my face like a good, lamenting daughter_," she remembered declaring callously.

With a small sigh Narcissa slowly let the hard planes of her face relax.  She moved stiltedly away from the mirror and perched herself on the edge of her dressing table stool.  Like a caged bird she stared hungrily out of the window.  She could not bear to be tethered like this!  If Narcissa had been forced to face exactly the same trials as her husband she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would not have survived: Azkaban would have killed her...  She literally shook herself, determined to banish the path to that perilous memory.

Nevertheless, a bitter, sigh-like hiss escaped her lips at the thought of Lucius.  Unlike his son, he would not have kept her chained for so long, but it hardly mattered now.  Lucius had abandoned her.  Narcissa's gaze fell from the beautiful view outside.  She didn't know where Lucius was; he hadn't bothered to tell her, hadn't even bothered to say goodbye.  A coil of barbed wire wrapped itself around her heart.  It had been left to Draco to inform her of her husband's departure.  

Narcissa glanced across the room at her son.  He was sitting on the floor causally flicking through a Quidditch handbook.  Narcissa's eyes narrowed at the sight of it, but she held her tongue.  Every so often Draco would glance up from the well-read pages, and watch her cautiously, but only when he didn't think that she was paying him any attention to him.  It was oddly endearing, to a point, but Narcissa longed to reclaim her former dominance and seize these duties from him.  _She_ was the one who spent her days continuously alert, forever on the watch for something that could threaten Draco - an invisible spectre that would catch him when he fell.  It should not be the other way around, but how to go about her reassertion?

'_By attending the Macnair's party for a start!'_' said a little voice inside her head.

A half smile, wholly joyless and entirely ruthless, one that she had learnt from the Malfoys, shaped her lips.  She watched Draco out of the corner of her eye until his attention was completely fixed on the book, and then she tried to stand again.  Narcissa bit down hard on her lip as her body protested, but she forced herself to battle through the pain.  Her son looked up, confused concern imprinted across his pale face.

"Mother?" he questioned her reluctantly, but Narcissa did not respond to his query.  Something, or rather _someone_, outside had caught her attention.  A surreal sense of detachment washed over Narcissa as she looked through the window and down upon the black-haired figure approaching her door.

"We're going downstairs," she commanded, her voice as hard as flint.  "We have a guest."

**..ooOOoo..**

Narcissa wasn't quite sure how she managed to walk downstairs.  Pain created a buffer around her mind, until she found herself standing in the centre of the drawing room, her face set.  Her body would not dare fail her now.  The familiar surroundings of the plush room escaped her notice; her mind was focused, like a hound that had caught the scent of its quarry she would not be swayed.  Of only one thing she was aware - Draco had insisted on accompanying her, against her better judgement.  Mother and son waited in silence until footsteps in the hall alerted them to the approach of their guest.  The grand door swung open and a maid entered the room with a little bob.

"Ms Zabini to see you, ma'am."

Although she had been expecting it the announcement still stung Narcissa, as if it was salt being rubbed into an open wound.  '_At least Lucius isn't here_,' she thought silently.  _'I could not bear the comparison today!'  _Isabelle strolled into the room, her head held high.  She was looking as radiant as ever: the picture of perfection, with her luxurious hair and flashing smile.  Narcissa could sense Draco tense.  If only she knew exactly what had transpired between Lucius and Isabelle!  He had rushed after _her_, his wife, instead of staying with her old rival, Narcissa recalled with a glimmer of satisfaction.  Why had Isabelle returned?

"What brings you here, Ms Zabini?" asked Narcissa, in what she hoped were a neutral tones.   She took just a moment to wonder at the title 'ms' and ponder why Isabelle might have adopted it, while Isabelle's painted lips curled in a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Where's Lucius?" she asked, her voice a trifle guarded.

"Out," Narcissa replied crisply.

"Out where?" Isabelle pressed.

Narcissa pursed her lips and wondered how best to drag herself out of the hole that she'd unwittingly dug.  She didn't dare glance at Draco.  _What must he be thinking? _She wondered with a pang.

"Does it really matter where Lucius is?" she countered Isabelle's question with one of her own.  She drew herself up to her full, impressive height and ignored the warnings of her body.  Isabelle shrugged, a vulgar gesture that Narcissa loathed.

"Didn't he tell you about our conversation yesterday?" she taunted.  Narcissa blinked slowly.

"I really didn't wish to know anything about it," she lied easily.

"No?" Isabelle smiled in disbelief.  "Well, I told him that I came to see _you,_ and it was not wholly a lie," she smirked.  "Today I came to inform you of your mother's death, but it would appear you already know," she continued steadily, regarding Narcissa's mourning garb critically.  Her hostess nodded cautiously, eternally relieved that Isabelle has not been the one to break the news of Elaine's death to her!

"Well then-" began Narcissa in an attempt to immediately rid herself of the witch and all the painful memories that she invoked, but Isabelle had turned her attention to Draco.

"Draco dear," she simpered affably.  "I don't know whether you've realised, but I'm Blaise's aunt.  You're in the same year at Hogwarts," Isabelle said with a sickly smile, "are the two of you friends?"

"Not anymore," Draco replied instantly, curling his lip in disgust.  Isabelle fluttered her eyelashes quickly and replaced the perfect smile that had momentary slipped off her face.  Narcissa allowed a few drops of perverse pride to warm her before she contemplated addressing Isabelle again.

"If there's nothing else-" she started calmly, but was interrupted by her guest.

"There was actually, the reason-" she paused, and smiled wickedly, "_one_ of the reasons I came yesterday.  Your mother wanted me to pass on a message," Isabelle declared, her words were notably harsher after encountering Draco's cheek.  Narcissa raised a cautious eyebrow, but Isabelle nodded meaningfully to the French doors that led out to the gardens.  Grasping her meaning, Narcissa walked over and opened them.

"Shall we?" she asked pleasantly enough, begging her body not to give in; a strange pins-and-needles like sensation was numbing her limbs.  Isabelle strolled across the room and sauntered outside.  Draco made a move to follow but Narcissa shook her head sharply before leaving him in the room and following Isabelle out into the grounds of the Manor.  Of the whole house this was her real territory, a surge of strength enveloped Narcissa.  Isabelle should have stayed indoors.

"The gardens look a little different," Isabelle remarked disapprovingly.

"I had a few replanted, one or two redesigned," confessed Narcissa evenly.  How she despised the fact that this woman still knew what the Manor used to look like!  Isabelle raised one exasperating eyebrow.

"Lucius didn't mind?"

"This is my home!" Narcissa hissed through clenched teeth.

"I don't suppose a man such as Lucius hasn't any interest in the gardens anyway," said Isabelle, with a dismissive wave of her hand.  Narcissa swallowed the curse that was on the tip of her tongue.

"What is this _all important_ message then?" she demanded instead, her voice hardening considerably now that they were alone and she was in her element.  Isabelle turned back to her, the pretence of a smile still grafted onto her face.

"Before she died Elaine made it quite clear that she wouldn't be buried in the Varvara family vault.  She wanted a traditional burial, traditional in the sense of her _foremothers_ that is," Isabelle volunteered smugly.  Narcissa narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  "Your father is furious.  He's trying everything to shirk his duty.  He won't be able to, it's already settled."

_A le Fay burial?_  A smile flew fleetingly across Narcissa's face; perhaps her mother hadn't completely let her down after all?  She turned to look at Isabelle; an instinctual suspicion had suddenly gripped her.  Isabelle had never had the slightest interest in any of this; she had always professed that she found Narcissa's ancestry contemptible.

"What is it you _really_ want, Isabelle?" she asked daringly.

"You stole something of mine," Isabelle replied to Narcissa's surprise.  Her eyes were now glittering with barely contained hatred.  Narcissa nodded in conceited understanding.  A trickle of pure malice flowed through her.  It was as she had feared, but some things needed to be pointed out.

"You don't understand, do you?" she smiled maliciously.  "You can't take back what I have.  Oh, you may lure Lucius into your bed, but while I live you will _never_ be Mrs Malfoy.  He will never divorce me and bring the Malfoy name into disrepute."  Narcissa wasn't quite sure where she found the strength to launch her attack.

"And what if he was a widower?" Isabelle hissed fiendishly.

"Ah, now that's interesting," conceded Narcissa indulgently.  She felt somewhat removed from the whole situation, although later she would be hit hard by the exchange.  "But of course, there would be no children from that union, it will be my son to inherit and I should warn you, Lucius would never let you harm Draco." 

"But he'll let me harm _you_?" Isabelle smirked.

"He'll let you try."

Even as the words dripped like poison from her lips Narcissa wished that she were somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, but this was hardly the first time that she'd had to rely upon her grim resolve to carry her through…

**OOoo..ooOO**

…They had asked her not to go.  They had offered to take her somewhere else.  They had voiced a thousand words of protest.  She had refused each and every suggestion bar one – she _would_ go to the Malfoys' Midsummer Ball.  If her father thought he could break her wings then he was sadly mistaken!

Lucius, Severus and she had Apparated to the gravelly forecourt just outside the Manor, but the mansion's splendour was initially lost upon Narcissa that evening.  She was not in the mood to be impressed.    Narcissa deliberately turned away from the house for a moment and raised a hand distractedly to her neck, wincing as she felt the ravaged skin beneath her fingertips, but all thoughts of her injury flew from her when she looked back up and encountered the Manor's resplendent grounds.  For all her desire to remain unaffected, her mouth opened a little in surprise that Lucius could be heir to something of such exquisite beauty. The cool logic of his mind seemed at such odds with the gentle, natural beauty hiding in the growing shadows.

"Narcissa?"

She heard Lucius call her name, calmly, dispassionately, and wondered if, in the game that she was playing to win his attentions, she was running out of cards?  Was he angry with her for her stubbornness, or perhaps he was embarrassed to be seen with her now?  Failing, losing, was not an outcome she ever contemplated, but how could one win when playing against a man like Lucius Malfoy?  Narcissa pursed her lips; such defeatist thinking was unlike her; Lucius had no great advantage over her.  If he knew her blackest secrets, then she too knew his, and he was still unaware of that fact.  He had only seen her family, whereas she had watched him commit murder.  

"Mr Malfoy-" she began, but was cut off impatiently.

"_Stop_ calling me that," he snapped the interruption.  Narcissa was taken aback.  Of all the possible reprimands that she'd been preparing for that had not been one of them!  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a fleeting look of surprise pass across Severus' face too.  "In this house you need only address my father as Mr Malfoy," he murmured by way of explanation, but something told Narcissa that this was not quite what he had meant.

She nodded her head in silent understanding and took the arm he offered her.  Was it just her imagination or did his body tense at her touch?  Narcissa couldn't help but wonder this, as she was led up the steps towards the house.  Lucius glanced down at her and his gaze lingered for too long on the red ring she knew must be encircling her neck.  She hadn't had a chance to judge the injury in a mirror herself.

"Is it as bad as that?" she said, trying to insert a note of jovial lightness into her voice, but Lucius' grim expression did little to help.

"It's…noticeable," he said slowly.  Narcissa stopped walking, tugged her arm free from his grasp and turned back to the apparation point.

"Giving up and going home, Cissy?" Snape mocked from where he was standing apart from them.  Her pale eyes flashed as she reached for the clips holding her hair back.  She pulled them out, let them fall to the ground and then shook her head allowing her hair tumble free in waves of gold that fell around her shoulders and hid the worst of the marks cut into her neck.

"Better?" she demanded crisply, unaware of the alluringly dishevelled quality of her new look.  She watched Lucius hesitate.

"Much," he said at length, a restrained smile touching his features.  "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm for a second time.  Narcissa accepted it gratefully and steeled herself for entering the Manor.  The great doors of the grand house swung open without human intervention, spilling light, laughter and music out into the night air.

"Are we late?" Narcissa found herself asking nervously.  She didn't especially want to be scrutinised by a whole group of new faces tonight.  Despite being Purebloods, the Varvaras' 'new money' label had prevented them from reaching the uppermost pinnacle of Wizarding society.

"Fashionably so," Lucius replied with a dry smile.  

A beautifully crafted staircase dominated the Manor's entrance hall.  Tiny, milky-white flowers had been delicately laced around the carved banisters.  Spheres of sparkling white light floated in the surrounding air, and illuminated the large chamber.  Narcissa let her eyes wander over all of this until her thoughts were harshly interrupted.

"Where have you been, Lucius?" growled an angry voice.  

Cassius Malfoy stepped out of side room and glowered at his son.  Narcissa's eyes flickered between the two men anxiously.  Snape dipped his head, and then wisely excused himself to go and join the party.  

"Collecting Miss Varvara, father," replied Lucius lightly.  Narcissa was keenly aware that he had not let go of her arm.  She was suddenly painfully conscious of the rapid beating of her heart, the nervous dryness of her mouth and the clamminess of her palms, but none of that mattered.  As long as she didn't outwardly reveal how she was feeling she would survive.  Cassius turned his attention to her, a calculated look of suspicion passed over his face before he turned back to his son.

"You're supposed to be helping host this event," he said pointedly.

"I thought Isabelle was helping with that?" Lucius remarked coolly.  It was as if he'd tempted Fate.

"Did I hear my name?" simpered a coy voice.  Isabelle sauntered out of the same room Cassius had arrived from.  She was dressed in a sleek, provocative red dress that offset her dark colouring perfectly.  Nevertheless the smile on her crimson lips faltered when her gaze fell upon Narcissa.  

"Isabelle, you look stunning."  Lucius delivered the compliment with absolute ease; while Narcissa felt the claws of jealously grip her.  His flattery initially seemed to work its seductive magic on Isabelle, who gave a sweet little laugh of pleasure, but then she turned her attention to Narcissa. 

"Miss Varvara," she began, taking a step past Cassius.  Her voice was icy, "has Lucius already taken your coat, or did you forget to bring one?  You seem to have forgotten to do your hair."  Her eyes fell to Narcissa's naked throat, notable for its lack of necklace.  "Don't tell me your father has sunk so low he's had to sell off the family jewels?"  Narcissa opened her mouth to hiss a quick comeback, but Isabelle had beaten her.  That last remark had robbed Narcissa of her voice.  In an agonising flashback, the events of the night rushed through her mind: the pain, the anger, the humiliation, the hurt…  As if she was hearing his voice from a great distance away, she heard Lucius speak.

"Would you care to dance, Narcissa?"

She was unaware of Isabelle's reaction to this, unaware of her own answer even, all she was conscious of was the arm that had wound its way around her waist and was guiding her into the ballroom.  Stepping into this majestic room had the same effect on Narcissa as being dosed by cold water.  The clarity of her mind returned.

"I'm sorry about that," Lucius muttered difficultly.  Narcissa's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"No you're not," she argued, as she was led expertly through the throng of aristocratic witches and wizards who were laughing and drinking and dancing.  Quite a few tried to catch Lucius' eye, but for the moment he ignored them.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he growled sharply.

"You knew exactly what would happen when you arrived with me," Narcissa said perceptively.  

"Fine, that much I'll admit," Lucius announced, unashamed.  He stopped walking and Narcissa realised that they were standing in the centre of the dance floor.  "But I didn't know you'd have to suffer that after-" he paused awkwardly, and his silence was filled by the orchestra playing the intro to the waltz  "-everything else you've had to endure tonight."

Narcissa wanted to say something, she wasn't sure what exactly, but something.  However once the music began in earnest and she found herself in Lucius' arms all desire to speak left her.  '_Have I ever really danced with a man before?'_ she wondered dimly. It had never felt like this!  Like her partner was an extension of her own body.  She could feel the very physical power of the man holding her now, in the strength of his hands and the firmness of the muscles lying beneath the respectable, crispness of his robes.  

She was so very tired.  Narcissa realised, when confronted with his strength, she was tired of fighting doggedly day after day, struggling just to keep her head above water.  Held in Lucius' arms she suddenly felt so very safe, and it was all because of him.  Narcissa smiled slowly.  

"Lucius?" she whispered softly as she let the music wash over her.  Yes, it was because of him.

"Mmm?" murmured a voice beside her ear.  Narcissa's eyes lost some of their dreaminess.  She hadn't meant to say that aloud!  They continued to move around the floor, but her prolonged silence caught Lucius' interest.  Smiling slightly he managed to win her eye contact.  "You're forgetting yourself, aren't you Narcissa?"

"What do you mean?" she muttered shakily.

"Are you really the two people you appear or just one very good actress?"

The music had ended, but Lucius had not let her go.  He was waiting for an answer, but Narcissa was saved from giving one.  Cassius tapped his son on the shoulder, and muttered a few quiet words that Narcissa didn't catch.  The annoyance of the frown, which settled on Lucius' face, was easy enough to read though.

"Duty calls," he sneered in irritation.  His gaze softened as he looked down at Narcissa, but Cassius spoke and prevented his son from saying anything more.

"I'll take care of Miss Varvara, for you Lucius, you needn't fret."

Narcissa saw the dark glare Lucius shot at his father, but he turned away without voicing another word.  She watched him until he was out of sight, and then let Cassius usher her off the dance floor.  Narcissa frowned as his grip on her arm tightened and he forced her to walk on.  She was steered through the throng of people to a private little alcove.

"I underestimated you," he said his voice very low, and very threatening.

"Pardon?" Narcissa breathed, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

"I saw you at the Glass Slipper and thought you'd make a charming plaything," admitted Cassius, with the confidence of a man very used to getting his own way.  He smiled at a few guests.  "Perhaps it was the wine that night which dulled my judgement, because now I've noticed the way you look at my son."

"And how is that, Mr Malfoy?" asked Narcissa, refusing to cower.

"Don't you know?" Cassius smirked.  His cold, grey eyes glinted heartlessly.  "When you think it's safe, as you look at him every drop of lust and longing in your innocent little body is written blatantly across your face," he hissed cruelly, "but that is not what concerns me.  What concerns me it the way you mostly manage to temper it.  I'd say that shows an insufferable streak of self-will," he whispered.  "I don't like women, Miss Varvara, I don't trust them, and I certainly don't like or trust you."

**OOoo..ooOO**

Draco pressed his forehead against the cool glass and peered out into the garden.  Who was Blaise's aunt _exactly_?  Why did she have such an unpleasant effect on his mother?  His young features formed a scowl his father would have been proud of.  He couldn't hear what was being said, but that didn't stop him from maintaining his vigil.  He had been entrusted with his mother's well being.  He would not fail her!

"What on earth are you doing, Draco?" drawled a cool voice slowly, from the entrance to the drawing room.  Lucius watched his son take a step back from the window and then turn around to face him.  An oddly grim expression was walking in shadows across Draco's face.  "Where's your mother?"  Lucius didn't consciously 'think' the question, instinct simply made it fly from his lips.

"Outside," his son muttered reluctantly.  Was he going to get the blame for this?

"What?" Lucius growled, stalking across the room to look out of the window himself.  

His footsteps faltered at the scene before his eyes.  A tide of emotions rose inside him.  Anger; how _dare_ Isabelle inflict herself upon Narcissa today of all days, but also a sense of self-loathing.  He should not have left her; he could not expect Draco to defend his mother against this threat.  _He_ should have stayed to look after her.  Alien uncertainly ensnared Lucius momentarily.  He didn't want to go out there.  He didn't want to see the pain in Narcissa's eyes, the glee in Isabelle's, and yet at the same time, he wanted to protect Narcissa more than anything in the world.

"Stay here, Draco," Lucius commanded as he pulled the door open.  His son unwillingly obeyed.

Narcissa saw him first, as he knew she would.  She had lived with him for too long not to be able to sense his approach.  His eyes racked over her figure.  There was an artificial edge to her solid stance.  She shouldn't even be out of bed!  This fact didn't escape Lucius' notice, but it was over shadowed by something else.  It had been years since he'd seen her dressed in black; she thought, with her pale features, it made her looked washed-out and ashen, but nothing could be further from the truth. Her essence was so vibrant that it did not need a coloured frame.

An aching uncertainty crossed Narcissa's face as she watched his approach.  She couldn't escape from the harsh comparison Lucius was certain to make now.  Her distracted attention from their war of words drew Isabelle's scrutiny.  The smile that Isabelle fixed in place was no less beautiful because of its nervous undertones, Narcissa noticed anxiously.  

Still, it was his wife Lucius greeted first.  To Narcissa's surprise he brushed a lingering kiss against her mouth, bringing a hint of colour to her white cheeks, before casually wrapping an arm around her waist.  She could not stop herself from accepting the support he offered, and so leant practically her full weight against the firmness of his body.  

"This is certainly a surprise," Lucius remarked slowly, almost sneering at Isabelle, even as his grip on Narcissa's waist tightened with concern for his wife's well being.  His old lover was looking almost dumbstruck!  Clearly Isabelle had not expected the Malfoy's marriage to survive her previous visit with such apparent ease.

"I told you yesterday that I needed to speak with Narcissa," Isabelle stammered awkwardly.  Lucius glanced down at his wife.

"We certainly had an interesting chat," she supplied evenly.  "But I think we've said everything that needed saying," she added, her voice as hard and unyielding as cast iron.

"Excellent," began Lucius, a wicked smile crossing his face, "I would offer to see you out, Isabelle, but as we're already outside…" he finished, his implication clear.

The colour rose to Isabelle cheeks.  She looked frankly confused by her dismissal, but ever resilient a brilliant smile was not long absent from her face.

"I'll leave the two of you to grieve in peace," she gushed.  "I'm sure I'll see you both soon, at either the Macnairs tonight or the funeral itself," Isabelle added finally, drawing her wand and then Disapparating.

Silence, broken only by birdsong, filled the garden.  Lucius moved to hold Narcissa in both his arms, before saying softly:

"How are you feeling?"

Narcissa stood passively in his embrace, and couldn't begin to contemplate an answer to his question.

"Where did you go?" she asked instead.

"Narcissa."

"Lucius," she countered, but then gave in a little.  "Isabelle said that mother wanted a traditional le Fay burial."  She paused to search his eyes for signs that he understood the significance of this request, and licked her lips hesitantly.  "You will go with me won't you, Lucius?"

"Of course I'll go," he said easily.  A small smile lit his wife's face, but her shoulders slumped when he added: "Can you imagine the uproar if I didn't?" 

"If that's your only reason for going, then you needn't bother!" she snapped harshly.  "I know that there isn't a single drop of grief inside you for my mother, but I had thought you might exert yourself a little for me at least!" 

"For _you_?" Lucius reiterated shrewdly swallowing a smile as Narcissa flushed. 

"Forget it," she said quickly, "it doesn't matter."

"I think it does," he murmured tugging her against him.

"And I say it doesn't!" she hissed boldly, using the very last of her strength to break free of his grasp and strike out towards the house.  "Well are you coming in?" she shot over her shoulder.  "We need to get ready for the Macnairs."

"Why?  We're not going."  Lucius' even reply stopped Narcissa in her tracks, she turned around, her eyes questioning.  "You're in no state to go anywhere, Narcissa," Lucius declared, his phrasing thoughtless.  It was precisely the wrong thing to say.  Narcissa could feel her temper slipping out of her control.

"Afraid I'll collapse and humiliate you?" she snarled, and when Lucius didn't immediately nullify her fears a small explosion seemed to take place inside her.  "Fine!  Well, since you seem to be suddenly so concerned with keeping up appearances why don't you go to the Macnairs' ball alone tonight!  _Isabelle_ will be glad to have a dance partner!"

"Narcissa-"

"Just go would you!" she cried irately.  "Just…leave me alone."

Later, sitting on her own for the first time all day, Narcissa realised that she hadn't meant it.  Not really.  She'd thought she had, but faced with the grim reality of having nothing to distract her from the bleakness of her thoughts made her see clearly: she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in her family.  Yet, this was impossible.  Draco had gone to stay at Crabbe's for the night.  Lucius was getting ready for the party.  Why had she pushed him away?  Narcissa sank back into the soft, drawing room sofa; she knew why.  She had become an embarrassment to him.  

Narcissa choked back a sob.  It was shocking and humbling how much she needed his strength.  She'd become so used to having his unwavering support.  Had she lost it now, tonight?  His strength seemed unshakable, and over the years it had become all too tempting to give in to her weaknesses a little and partially shift her burdens to his capable shoulders.  It hadn't always been that way; there had been a time when she'd been utterly self-sufficient.  Narcissa closed her eyes.  That had been a long time ago.  She'd come to rely upon Lucius ever since the first night that he'd glimpsed the darkness of her family and offered to take her away – if only for a night. 

**OOoo..ooOO**

Narcissa ran a finger over the tiny petals of the moly flowers that adorned the banisters.  She'd escaped from Cassius and the crowded ballroom; back out to the Manor's hallway.  If she'd had a cloak then she would have slipped outside, but the staircase would serve as a good enough hiding place for one night.  Slow footsteps suddenly drew her attention.  Narcissa lifted her eyes to see Lucius approaching her.

"I thought you could use a drink," he said once he reached her; he handed her a glass of amber liquid.  Narcissa took it uncertainly.  Since her encounter with Cassius she'd had rather too many drinks.  She stared at it for a moment and then drained the contents in one fell swig.  Tears gathering in her eyes as she immediately choked on the strong liquor that was burning the back of her throat.

"You really shouldn't do that if you're not used to it," remarked Lucius unhelpfully, with an easy chuckle.  "Who are you out here hiding from anyway?" he asked curiously.  Narcissa lifted her head once she'd recomposed herself and watched Lucius guardedly.  His father obviously hadn't said anything to him.  "Lestrange hasn't been bothering you again has he?" he continued, a frown touching his features.  Narcissa shook her head.

"I haven't seen him at all," she confessed, wondering at his interest.

"No," Lucius smiled, "I don't suppose you have," he said.  To Narcissa's further surprise he sat down on the step beside her.  She had already been looking at him in puzzlement; she had never seen him so at ease before.  He was truly relaxed.  "The soon to be _Mrs_ Lestrange is here," Lucius explained thoughtfully. "So he's on his best behaviour."

"I see," remarked Narcissa slowly.  "And is she aware of his transgressions?" she asked delicately.

She glanced sideways at Lucius; he really was much too close for comfort.  She didn't know what to do and she could already feel her skin glowing.  Hopefully that was from the drink, whatever he'd given her, whisky, brandy, she was no expert, although she was belatedly realising that she probably shouldn't have taken it on top of the numerous glasses of white wine and champagne she'd already consumed.  She didn't really have much of a head for alcohol and in a bid to fit into her gown she hadn't eaten anything all day.  

"Oh, she's aware of them," nodded Lucius perceptively.  "Although I dare say his bank balance helps to obscure her view." 

"Mr Malfoy!  That is really a most uncharitable thing to say!" exclaimed Narcissa in mock chastisement.  The rigours of talking were causing a horribly giddy feeling to quickly overcome her.  "Perhaps she loves him?" she wondered aloud as the hall span slightly.  Lucius snorted sardonically.  

"And I thought you were a sensible woman, Narcissa!" he muttered harshly.  The censure in his voice stung her, but she did had time to wonder when she had become "Narcissa" in his eyes; he usually sprinkled a few "Miss Varvaras" liberally into their conversations, but no more.  "Please tell me you are not one of those pathetic creatures waiting for _love_?" he sneered the word as if it mortally offended him.

"No," said Narcissa simply, but this didn't seem strong enough proof to redeem herself.  Her tongue had been loosened and she didn't seem able to stop it.  "Do you know what my full name is?"

"I'm not sure I want to know where this is going, but no, I do not know what your full name is," replied Lucius slowly.  He supposed if he'd time earlier he would have been able to read if off the ancestry at Cotehele.

"Have you ever heard of woman known as Elaine of Astolat?" asked Narcissa leisurely, swaying very slightly as she suddenly found it necessary to concentrate on each word.

"Would you like to ask me a question I know the answer to?" retorted Lucius roughly, as he considered catching her hold.  

He didn't understand how she was quite _this_ tipsy, he had only wanted to strip back a little of her reserve.  She did look utterly ravishing he had to confess, with her cheeks flushed, lips smiling disarmingly as she leant towards him to speak, if only her eyes were a little less glazed.  If she looked at him like this in the sober light of day, he would not be able to control himself!

"Arthurian Legend tells us that Elaine of Astolat died of a broken heart," continued Narcissa, completely unaware of any affect she was having upon her host or the impropriety of her subject matter.  "She gave her love to the knight Lancelot, but died of grief when he did not return the affection."  Narcissa paused, and when she started to speak again her voice had lost some of its carelessness.  "My mother's name is also Elaine.  You have seen what manner of man my father is," she said grimacing, sobering it would seem.  " And although my mother loves him he will be the death of her.  It is the curse she bears.  I am her daughter.  I have a share in that curse," she stated matter-of-factly, but stopped abruptly as she realised what she was saying.  Lucius turned to her, unsatisfied with the tale's ending.

"And?" he prompted.

"And she gave me the middle name Astolat, for the man I am doomed to love will bring about my ruin."  Narcissa declared undauntedly, her arm unintentionally brushing against Lucius' own as she leant back a little.  "So as for your question, no, I am not waiting for love, I am rather hoping that it never finds me."

"That's an interesting story," said Lucius carefully.

"Interesting?" repeated Narcissa with a slow smile.  "But you do not believe a word of it?"

"I do not believe in prophecies or love, so you're telling your tale to the wrong man," he replied.  His voice was even, but he was distractedly running two fingers between his neck and the collar of his shirt, knocking his tie slightly askew in the process.  

Narcissa watched the uncharacteristically nervous gesture and felt her own confidence swell.  She twisted her body to face him and drew herself a little closer.  She then raised her dextrous hands to sort out the mess Lucius had made of his cravat, while he watched her, utterly entranced.  

Half way through her task Narcissa fully realised what she was doing.  Her pulse started to jump as she caressed the silk beneath her hands; she had only to reach out her fingers to touch him.  At this tantalising thought her stomach twisted itself into an uncomfortably tight knot.  She wondered if he could possibly hear the pounding of her heart.  Narcissa kept her eyes cast down and cursed her own impudence!

Just as she was finishing, somewhat relieved to finally be able to pull away from him, Lucius' hands closed around her own and held them, and her, in place.  Narcissa's eyes flew to meet his, and she was surprised by the grim resolve in their shadowy depths.  Of it's own accord her body moved even closer to his, until she could feel the firmness of his legs against her own through the material of her skirt. She could read something else in his eyes too.  Desire.  It sent a thrill shooting through Narcissa's body.  Her eyes moved down to his mouth, she licked her own lips instinctively and heard his breath catch.  She tilted her head and offered herself to him.  

"Lucius Malfoy!" cried a voice that sent Narcissa shooting away from him as if she'd been scalded.

Isabelle was standing in the centre of the hall.  Her arms were folded and her eyes were flashing.  Lucius lowered his head and muttered a curse under his breath, before picking himself up and dragging himself away from Narcissa without a word.  Even when he was gone she could feel the afterglow of his presence.  It was like staring into the sun, and then closing her eyes: his afterimage had been burned into her soul.

**OOoo..ooOO**

Narcissa jumped.  Her eyes flew open as the front door slammed shut.  Lucius had gone.  He'd left her for Isabelle, just as he had done on that Midsummer's Eve long ago.  The aftertaste of the memory had stayed with her.  She remembered leaving the Manor that night, dying a little as she left them together to return to her world of nightmares.  Lucius, his name meant light, and that is what he had slowly become in the world of darkness she inhabited.

Like an old woman Narcissa stood and then hobbled out into the empty hall.  Who was she trying to fool?  What man would stay with a cripple like her when the promise of a woman like Isabelle was open to him?  

Gingerly she climbed the stairs; out of breath by the time she reached their top.  What had her mother said during that last visit?  Elaine had asked how long whatever it was that bound Lucius to his wife would last.  Perhaps her mother, her poor dead mother, through her own life had taught Narcissa something after all?

She pushed open the door to the master bedroom.  She had been so arrogant!  Never had she seriously considered losing Lucius in this manner!  She peeled off the confining clothes that were stifling her, limped into the en-suite bathroom and stepped into the shower.  

She hadn't lost him, not quite yet.  

Narcissa raised her face to the showerhead.  The warm water seemed to melt the layers of ice encasing her body.  _Let me drown_, she prayed.  _Let it stop hurting_.  Her small frame shuddered with the effort of containing her tears.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed standing there, her arms propped against the shower walls to keep her body upright.  When the water lost its soothing charm she stumbled out of the cubicle and hugged a towel around her dripping form.  She padded her way back to the bedroom, the carpet soft and luxurious under foot, and caught sight of her wrecked reflection.

Narcissa could hardly bear to look; she was a mess.  Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin pallid and lifeless.  This was what she wanted Lucius to reject Isabelle's dazzling beauty for?  No doubt she was waiting for him at the Macnair's party, sleek and gorgeous and whole.  Narcissa could picture them in each other's arms, dancing and then…  Tears swam in front of her eyes, blurring her vision, but her mind's eye refused to be clouded.  Narcissa let out a cry against the images gathering there

The mirror shattered.  An uncontrolled burst of magic sent glassy shards spraying across the carpet and her skin, severing her final thread of composure.  Narcissa's legs gave way, and a lifetime's worth of unspent tears broke free of their restraints.  She clutched the towel around her as the salty agony of her tears stained her face.

It was then that the bedroom door swung open, then that Lucius saw his wife at her very lowest ebb.

- 


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Passion & Pain

Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread, encouraged, and bribed to fruition, by Kirixchi.

Tainted Love

Chapter Sixteen: Passion & Pain****

Lucius stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, rooted to the spot as if caught in the twisting vines of Devil's Snare.  Narcissa had not noticed him.  It appeared that she had just showered; she was still wet, and wrapped in a thick bath-towel, but those things were secondary in registering to Lucius.  In sheer disbelief he watched her body shake with the force of the tears she was crying.  He had never seen this side of his wife before - cowering in a crumpled heap on the carpet - and to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to see it now.  

Lucius wasn't proud of the first thought that occurred to him, but neither was he able to dismiss it.  It would be so very easy to turn around and leave Narcissa, to abandon her, as she had always secretly feared he would.  Once a link in a chain had been broken wasn't it always irreparably damaged?  Even if he could bolster her, wouldn't she just falter again? 

After all, Narcissa herself had told him to leave her alone, Lucius reminded himself while taking a backwards step; she had rejected him first.  Even Lucius Malfoy had discovered that rejection stings.  Like acid it corrodes, or as oil burns and refuses water's cure.  It buries itself deep and refuses to heal, leaving in its wake an open wound.  Only her tears were a salve.  Lucius shut his eyes; unwilling to give reign to the strongest of feelings welling inside him, and instead reminded himself that he what he had come back for was revenge.  He wanted her to hurt, just as she had wounded him earlier in the day.  

Lucius wavered; Narcissa was already hurting. 

A battle was fought within him, a struggle between the part of him that was her husband, lover, confidant, ally, and the other darker side of himself: Death Eater, murderer, enemy.Malfoy.  He wasn't sure which side would win.

The events of that evening rushed back to torment him, trying to sway his decision.  Lucius vividly recalled the bitter resentment that he had felt towards his wife when she had sent him away.  He had been _so_ angry with her, with her jealously, her stubbornness, her sheer _blindness_!  He had thundered around the house, getting ready for the Macnair's ridiculous ball - an event that he had never wanted to attend in the first place!  Only after leaving the Manor in a fitting rage of fury had he grudgingly managed to calm down.  

Standing outside his home, with his back to the house, Lucius had held his wand in his hand, prepared to Disapparate.and then faltered.  Reluctantly, his cool gaze was drawn back towards the Manor.  What if Narcissa needed him and he wasn't there?  Would he have to battle this anger for her, a rage that she herself had evoked, and concede yet another defeat?  Lucius' face twisted in a disgusted sneer.  When had Narcissa ever granted him such a reprieve?  

He had stood for several minutes in an agony of indecision - unable to bring himself to depart but proudly refusing to renter the Manor.  So Lucius had found himself wandering among the gardens - _her_ gardens, the one place in the whole of their estate that was unequivocally his wife's domain.  Every new bud seemed infused with her spirit, every great tree a paradigm of her strength - a cruel irony when he was suddenly intent on forgetting Narcissa.  He was trapped in a paradox; he was there for her, but away from her, he had escaped her, but she was always with him.  

Lucius had found himself reluctantly admitting that it was not Narcissa's fault that Isabelle had descended upon them.  It was not her fault that her mother had died. It was not even her fault that she couldn't recognise what meant to him.but Narcissa _was_ to blame for pushing him aside.  That final thought had halted his steps.  A flicker of his old fury had re-ignited.  Lucius had turned back towards the house, suddenly intent on proving to Narcissa that he was not a man who could be simply dismissed.  

With this thought newly entrenched in his mind, Lucius stepped into the bedroom and let the door fall shut.  There was something muted, something terribly latent about the dull click of the mechanism.  Lucius watched his wife freeze at the sound of discovery.  She couldn't bring herself to lift her head.  She couldn't bear to see who'd caught her; with Draco away at Crabbe's there seemed but one possibility.  Narcissa clung to denial for as long as possible, ready to embrace perpetual ignorance rather than confront the risk of facing her husband in such a state.

"This nonsense has to stop, Narcissa," Lucius declared callously, using his words like a whip.  He saw her flinch and then try to stem her tears as she fought to find a response.  However, despite his desire for revenge, he couldn't deny that there was something oddly crippling about seeing her cry.  He could almost feel her pain; it was virtually tangible.

"And how do you propose I do that?" Narcissa asked weakly.  Her voice was strained and scratchy.  She clutched the towel around her as if it was some sort of shield against him, but didn't bother to try and stand.

"I _propose_ you pull yourself together," he mocked her nastily, but in his mind he added a silent plea to his taunt.  "_Just fight back, Narcissa._"  His wife had always fought, tooth and nail.  It was one of the things that he so admired in her.  He needed a reassurance of her strength.  She wouldn't really give in to this, would she?  He begged for a sign, even if it had to be him she was fighting against.  

Narcissa merely let out a soft, cheated laugh.

"Pull myself together?" she repeated.  "I don't know how to do that for you, Lucius," she confessed wretchedly.  The hard stance that Lucius had taken made it impossible for him to offer a single word of comfort when he saw her shoulders slump dejectedly.  "What's the point?" she whispered, staring into space.

"Of what?" Lucius asked, his mouth suddenly dry.  She tried to look up at him.  Her eyes, which usually shone silver, were lifeless, grey, no not even grey, thought Lucius, they were simply void of all colour.  Her hair was still damp, but starting to dry in wavy disarray.

"Just turn around and walk away," she commanded, her voice deadened and flat.  Although she couldn't bring herself to seek it, Narcissa could well imagine the disgust in his eyes, and she didn't think she would be able to endure the certainly of watching his face cloud over in loathing.

"What?" 

"I don't want you here."  It was only half a lie; she really didn't want him to see her in such a state.  She needed to regroup, if that was even possible, "and you certainly don't want to be here."

"You don't know what I want, as you keep demonstrating," Lucius growled with a sneer.  He threw off his cloak in a fit of anger.

"All right, then tell me.  What is it that you think you want, Lucius?" Narcissa sighed with a shake of her head, as yet untroubled by her husband's growing rage.  She was more preoccupied with what would happen afterwards, when Lucius had had time to reflect on what a spectacular failure of a wife she had turned out to be.

"I've told you before - you."

"_Want_ is not enough," she refuted bitterly.

"_Want_ has been enough for the last fifteen years," he snarled, crossing the room and yanking her unceremoniously to her feet.  

Narcissa gasped, alarmed.  It seemed she had misjudged the situation badly.  Her legs almost buckled as his hands covered her body possessively.  They swept over the swell of her breasts, bit into her curve of her waist, rousing her heart to pound at the glaze of wolfish longing in his eyes. 

"Don't," she suddenly pleaded, her eyes scanned his tense face quickly and read his intention.  He wanted to prove his case.  "Not like this."

"Drop the towel."

"Please, Lucius," she begged shaking her head, more resolutely than before, but her refusal only added fuel to the flames of mingled anger and desire engulfing him.  

A moment later Narcissa was being pushed back roughly onto the bed.  Her towel was ripped away, and then she was pinned beneath the crushing weight of Lucius' body as he joined her.  Her weakened body hummed, but deep inside Narcissa a spark of anger flickered into life as she struggled; he was _not_ going to lord his dominance over her in this way!  

This rush of invigorating fury was followed by a glimmer of Narcissa's old cunning.  She had one very effective card to play against her husband, one that she had never used before, but had hidden away safely until the need for it arose.   She licked her lips and wondered if she dared cast it aside now?  Why not?  

"You're hurting me," she hissed deliberately.  As she had predicted, the force weighing down her body was immediately withdrawn.

It was a cruel, devious trick; she knew how much it would hurt him, but for a moment she could brush that thought aside.  Like a Muggle engine that had been given a jumpstart, she felt as if she had been brought back to life.  A current of energy flowed through her veins, injected like a drug, administered by Lucius.  Unsteadily, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked across the room to where her husband had retreated.  A surge of guilt hit her.  He was facing away, his arms crossed, staring out of the window.

Until that moment her actions had been driven by instinct alone, the patterns of resistance and reprisal heightened by the adrenaline surging through her veins.  Now, however, the effects were slowly beginning to dissipate, and her conscious mind began to digest what had just occurred.  A new thought, belatedly, struck Narcissa.  

Lucius had come back to her.  

This realisation made her sway.  What damage had her thoughtless actions wrought?  She worked her fingers anxiously through the knots in her hair.  If she kept pushing him away then sooner or later he wouldn't bother returning, and she wasn't sure if she could live without him.  Could the situation be salvaged?  Perhaps.if she gave him what he wanted?

Steeling herself, Narcissa reached for her dressing gown and shrugged it on.  She knotted it loosely around her waist and then, still feeling fragile, she slid off the bed and walked towards her husband.  Lucius blanked her completely.  She felt the prickling of despair, finally fathoming that he could deny her pleasure as effective as she could deny him.  Painfully conscious now, of the ache building within her core, Narcissa squeezed herself between his body and the windowsill with new determination.  

A confused, tormented frown rested on Lucius' face when he saw the impish smile in his wife's eyes.  Narcissa reached out and twisted her fingers around his cravat, using it to drag his mouth down to hers, instigating a kiss as she so rarely dared.  She eased her tongue between his bewildered lips, exploring the familiar contours of his mouth with wanton relish, realising as she did so that she needed this flair of carnal desire sated as much as him.  

While Narcissa lost herself in her husband, her nimble fingers made quick work of removing his tie.  She let her hands trail down the length of his chest and the flat of his stomach, before stopping and letting them rest suggestively above the waistband of his trousers.  Almost as if he didn't trust himself to be this close to his wife, Lucius pulled back, using the windowpane to steady himself.

"What are you doing?" he panted raggedly.

"I don't mind being wanted," Narcissa purred, arching her body against his.  It was enough, she argued internally.  Somehow she'd _make_ it enough, because she was _not_ going to lose him!

"Narcissa I-" he groaned, but his sentence was brought to an abrupt end when she stood on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and administered another breath-stealing kiss.  His hands were still resting on the cold glass of the window; he wouldn't touch her without invitation.  

How had the transfer of power between them happened exactly? Lucius managed to wonder dimly.  Had he given it up, or had she taken it?

"Hold me, Lucius," Narcissa pleaded softly against his mouth.  Her broken body was crying out for the contact and support that only he could give.  

Narcissa nearly melted when she felt his arms move to her waist, but he only allowed them to lightly clasp her body.  With a small, dissatisfied moan, she pressed herself more firmly against him, prompting Lucius to compliantly tighten his grip on her.  

Deepening the kiss as she worked, Narcissa ground her hips against him, enticing him to the point of torture, but he would go no further than she asked.  Blissfully grasping the fact that she now had complete control of the situation, Narcissa stilled and gazed steadily at her husband.  

"Please," she murmured thickly, encapsulating her entire meaning in that one word, while her wandering hands roamed desperately over his robes, trying to be everywhere at once.  She watched as his eyes, heady with desire, darkened visibly, and a confession sprang shakily from her lips: "You may only want me, but I _need_ you, Lucius Malfoy."

Want.  Need.  The two clearly weren't interchangeable terms in Narcissa's vocabulary.  Lucius tried to follow this train of thought to its logical conclusion, but Narcissa's hands had slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, intent on exploring every inch of their territory, and derailed his reason.  It was practically impossible to think rationally around the woman!  But of course, it always had been.

**OOoo..ooOO**

It was the beginning of August, and it was beginning to rain.  Big angry drops hit the dry ground, forming instant puddles.  Lucius sighed, and scowled up at the sky.  He wasn't getting wet.  He'd charmed the black cloak that masked him, but the sudden heaviness in the summer air was unpleasant.  He turned around, leant against the railing he was standing beside and looked out across the River Thames.  

He hated Muggle-London.  It was smoggy, busy, and worst of all _infested_ with Muggles.  Lucius sneered, and let his hand creep into one of his pockets, his gloved fingers curled around the thick parchment resting there.  He didn't have to look at it to know that it was black, the same colour as the sky: a command from the Dark Lord.

In a few short minutes a Wizard informant was due to meet the Muggle Prime Minister, James Callaghan, to discuss matters that Lord Voldement did not wish discussed.  Lucius' task was to retire the informant. The Prime Minister was someone else's responsibility.  Although these affairs were carried out with the guise utmost secrecy, with fellow Death Eaters supposedly ignorant of their comrades' identities, Lucius could guess who'd been given Callaghan as his mark, and thus ultimate control over the whole operation.  

Lestrange.  

He'd won favour with the Dark Lord ever since planting himself as a mole in Hogwarts.  Lucius couldn't decide if this bothered him or not.  He rather thought it should.  He wasn't used to coming second, but this was in essence the whole problem that Lucius had discovered after he had taken the Mark.  He had become a servant.  

Lucius' eyes narrowed to slits; of course there was something else that still goaded him where Rodolphus was concerned - his friend's pursuit of Narcissa.  Lucius still hadn't forgiven that misdemeanour.  He tried to clear his mind and ignore the keen irritation that was eating away at him.  He'd end up doing something foolish if he didn't keep these grievances in check.  

However, all of these thoughts were swept aside as Lucius snapped to attention on hearing the first strident peal of Big Ben ring out across the city.  That was his cue.  After a swift glance around, to check that there weren't any Muggles in the vicinity, he quickly drew his wand and Apparated to the designated meeting place.  

High atop one of the prominent towers of Tower Bridge the unseasonable rain was falling with all the force of small missiles.  Lucius braced himself against the assault and glared beneath his hood at the dark figure standing before him.  He clenched his jaw in effort to suppress the scathing complaint that he wanted to make about the ridiculous choice of location.

"Good, you're here," remarked the all too familiar voice of Lestrange.  Beneath the folds of his hood Lucius' scowl turned into a sneer.

"You have everything planned?" he demanded, leaning into the wind, while letting his gaze linger on the busy road some hundreds of feet below where they were standing.

"We can't Apparate straight into Number 10.  The Ministry has put up defences," Lestrange spat in disgust, "but we _can_ get as far as the front door without any trouble," he finished with a smirk, adding confidently: "even the doors of Muggle Prime Ministers are not hard to dispense with, and once we're inside I know the room we need to find."

"And, what about getting back out?" asked Lucius slowly.  He felt his stomach plummet.  He should have known that Rodolphus wouldn't be happy with a sly, covert operation.  They'd both be caught for sure if they followed this plan, but the black figure of Lestrange merely shrugged carelessly.

"We'll make a run for it."

"_That_ is your plan?" Lucius growled.  "You don't think a less brazen attack might be more advantageous?"

"You worry too much."  Lucius could picture the smug grin entrenched on his friend's face as he gave his blasé reply.  He balled his fists.  Rodolphus would pay for his recklessness one day.  "There are a two more of Lord Voldemort's supporters waiting to join us, that should even up the odds a little."

_A very little_.  Lucius sighed, wholly unconvinced, but the fact that there were an additional two men involved in the mission at least offered him the smallest chance of self-survival.  He'd sacrifice anyone to save himself.  Lucius nodded grimly, keeping his silence for a while as the wind howled around them.

"When do we start?" he asked at length, anxious now to get underway.  Rodolphus pulled a gold fob watch out of his pocket and studied it for a moment.

"In exactly ten seconds," he remarked to his friend's slight surprise.  _Nine_.  "Are you ready?"  Lucius nodded his head beneath his hood, insulted by the question.  _Seven._   He waited impatiently for the lengthy seconds to spend themselves.  _Five_.  Both wizards drew their wands.  "God help them," Rodolphus leered.  _Two_.  "Nothing else can."

The crack of four simultaneous Apparations filled Downing Street.  Sheer surprise, at seeing four cloaked figures materialise before his very eyes, momentarily paralysed the policeman guarding the black door of Number 10.  A split-second later gut instinct, unusually honed after two decades worth of service in the force, made him reach for his gun - too late, too slowly.  

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

The last words he would ever hear.  The bobby saw a flash of green light.and nothing more.  Rodolphus sniggered as he watched the body of his victim slump lifelessly and hit the hard, paved ground.  Lucius' eyes however, were darting up and down the famous street, registering more police close by, armed soldiers not far off, and the repulsive panic of tourists sensing that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong.

He knew what had to be done.  Rodolphus would hate him for it, but Lucius wasn't playing by his friend's rules.  He tighten his grip on his wand, drew a deep breath to help focus his mind, and then with a sharp, precise flick of his wrist, Lucius cast the spell that had just occurred to him.

"_Abstinere Tempestas_."

There was a soft, oppressive boom, and then an invisible shockwave radiated out from the spot where Lucius was standing.  He watched his comrades brace themselves as the spell washed over them, but left them unaffected.  However, the Muggles, once touched dropped limply to the ground.  Regrettably they were not dead, just temporarily frozen in time.

"Bloody hell!  What was that about?" Lestrange yelled furiously.  

"I'm not taking part in a kamikaze mission," Lucius replied icily; careful not to betray just how much of his energy had been sapped in casting the formidable spell.  "I want to get out of this alive and with my reputation in tact.  Leave the Muggles unchecked and this whole country will know about your _secret_ mission before you've even carried it out."  This reasoning silenced Rodolphus.

"Will that spell have affected the people inside the buildings?" one of the other cloaked figures asked quickly.  Lucius took a moment to place the voice.  Snape.

"It depends how thorough the Ministry were when setting up their defences," he replied slowly.  "But it will not last long-" 

"So we'd better get started," Lestrange interrupted savagely, snatching back command.  He raised his wand to blast down the door, but Lucius neatly blocked his path and said swiftly:

"_Alohomora_."__

The door clicked, its locks released.  Lucius could not help but smile furtively at the palpable anger radiating from Rodolphus.

"Stealth is never to be underestimated," he drawled softly, walking up the steps to the black door, which swung open easily.  

The unfortunate guard who was standing on the opposite side of the door was disposed of with ruthless efficiency.  Lucius turned his hooded gaze back to his comrades expectantly.  Lestrange was first to move.  He stormed up to Lucius, pushed his way passed the other wizard and disappeared into the Prime Minister's residence.  Snape and his unidentified companion moved forwards more uncertainly.

"You two," Lucius barked. "I want this building secured.  Prevent anyone, Wizard or Muggle, from entering," he paused darkly, "eliminate anyone who crosses your path."  

He waited to see their obedient nods before turning and walking after Rodolphus.  The air was thick with panic, heavy with fear and dread, and filled with a score of different shouts and screams.  Lucius stepped over the body of his victim, a second guard was strewn lifelessly across the corridor a little way into the building, and after that another.  Cool, detached and wholly apathetic, Lucius followed the trail of dead bodies until he reached the double doors of a large drawing room.  He could hear Rodolphus' voice on the other side, but before his gloved hand had reached for the door handle, a shout behind him made Lucius turn.  

Two armed policemen charged around the corner.  Their guns were trained upon Lucius in an instant.  Skilled fingers gently squeezed triggers, but suddenly, hot fire was dancing under foot, as either Snape or his companion appeared on the scene.  The policemen yelped as the flames licked at their boots, letting free a stray bullet as they dodged the blaze.

Wood exploded to the left of Lucius' face as the pellet embedded itself in the doorframe.  Splinters flew like tiny spears.  The cloak's enchantment was not strong enough to repeal them, and so they drove their way through the material and into the flesh beneath.  Lucius winced in pain, but recovered much faster than the police.

"_Imperio_," he hissed, casting the Unforgivable curse over both men at once.  

He waved his wand and the two men turned to face each other, guns still clasped, loaded and now pointed at one another.  Lucius raised his hands, and the policemen mimicked the gesture, until the muzzle of each man's weapon was pressed against his partner's temple.  Beneath the Death Eater's mask Lucius blinked his soulless eyes.  Two shots were fired in perfect unison.  Two bodies fell to the ground.  Two more names to list among the dead.

Behind the corpses that were clad in bloodstained uniforms, the black figure nodded, but Lucius did not return the gesture.  He was in no mood to give thanks to the inconsequential, and so turned back to the door and made his way into the official drawing room.

The grim spectre of Rodolphus was sitting calmly in a plush armchair.  Dead bodyguards were strewn around the room.  James Callaghan, an ageing, bespectacled man, was sitting opposite Lestrange looking ill, but glazed.  Beside the Prime Minister, gently trembling on the sofa, sat the wizard informant.  Crispin Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw who'd been at Hogwarts at the same time as Lucius.  

The charade of surreal calm was unnerving.  Lucius walked cautiously into the room, wand already drawn and pointed squarely at Brocklehurt.  His tongue was just curling around a deadly curse when Rodolphus held up a hand to stop him.

"Not yet."

"What?" Lucius snarled.

"I have them under the Imperius curse at the moment.  It's quite all right," Rodolphus replied.  His voice was softened by a hint of subtle insanity that worried Lucius, whose own eyes flew towards Brocklehurt as he realised that the man was not shaking in fear, but in an effort to throw off the curse he was under.  

This realisation struck Lucius at precisely the same moment that Brocklehurst overcame Rodolphus' control.  He sent a shower of fire bolts in the direction of the Death Eaters.  Lucius and Rodolphus dodged the blasts, but found themselves suddenly pinned down, listening to Crispin tell the Prime Minister to make a break for it.

"Go!" he yelled.  "Into the secret vault!  I'll take care of things here!"

With a roar of anger Rodolphus leapt to his feet and blocked Brocklehurt's attack, just in time to see the Prime Minister disappear behind a hidden door in one of the bookcases that was skirting the room.

"You'll pay for that!" he bellowed.  "_Crucio_!"  

Lucius stood up and brushed himself down, glancing for a moment at Lestrange in contempt; Brocklehurt was _his_ mark.  However, he then turned to watch Crispin scream and writhe in agony on the floor as Lestrange toyed with him.  His muscles began to spasm, contorting his body into grotesque shapes until the crack and splinter of breaking bone filled the air.  Rodolphus lifted the curse, and then casually walked by the whimpering, broken body of Brocklehurst on his way to the hidden door.  Lucius' gaze followed him for a moment, but then he turned back to Crispin.  The time had come to put him out of his misery.

"Damn it!" Rodolphus swore, ripping books from their shelves in an effort to discover the bookcase's secret.

"Calm down," Lucius hissed between clenched teeth.  He looked away from Brocklehurst as Rodolphus blew apart the polished wood, but as he did so, Crispin's shattered fingers curled awkwardly around his own wand.  He moved slightly, biting through his lip to stem the scream of excruciating pain longing to leave him, and managed to tap the little ruby tiepin that he was wearing, wheezing as he did so:

"_Concateno_."

Lucius' eyes darted back to Brocklehurst.  He crouched down by his bloody side.

"What did you just do?" he drawled silkily.  Rodolphus paused.  Crispin choked on the bitter laugh that he'd tried to expel.

"I've just summoned every Auror in the country," he gloated, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Did you now?" Lucius breathed.  He felt strangely calm, although he could see Rodolphus standing stock-still out of the corner of his eye.  "Such a shame they won't get here in time to save you," he sneered.

He stared at Brocklehurst from beneath his hood.  The man tensed his broken body and awaited the death that was coming to claim him.  Lucius gave a small nod, and then in a flash of green light cast his killing curse.

"We have to go," he said sharply, getting swiftly to his feet and striding towards the door without a backwards glance.

"What about Callaghan?"

"He was your responsibly," Lucius replied nastily.  "As was the whole mission."  Rodolphus swore violently, but Lucius ignored his outburst.  "The Aurors will have the same problem that we encountered.  They won't be able to Apparate inside the building.  If we can get out without meeting them we'll be fine."

"Sounds simple," Rodolphus spat sarcastically, as he followed Lucius back out into the hallway.  "You!" he snapped, clicking his fingers at the black, hooded figure that happened to be standing in the corridor.  "Have you found any other way out?"

Lucius watched the wizard nod and point, but spoke swiftly:

"No.  They'll expect that.  We'll go out the front door.  The Aurors might not be here yet anyway.  Besides Brocklehurst could have been bluffing."

"Doubtful," Rodolphus hissed, but was prevented from continuing by a sudden interruption from Snape.

"The Muggles outside are waking up," he called rushing up to the small group, and just as he did so a loud crash sounded from down the corridor.  

Shouts and commands that sounded distinctly military, even to wizard ears, were being issued a few short rooms away.  Lucius turned towards the corridor that led to the front door - an individual bent on self-survival.  Let Rodolphus stand and fight if he wanted to.  He was wasting time, yelling at Snape and the other wizard for not securing the house properly, while Lucius' only goal was to get away.  He increased his pace when he heard the straining of wood and the shouts of the soldiers as they broke through somewhere.  Gunfire filled the air, someone behind Lucius cried out in pain but he didn't stop, not until, a few seconds later, a voice thick with pain hissed a strangely familiar spell.

"_Fulmentium_!"                  

The air crackled with the electricity of the lightning strike.  Lucius skidded to a stop and turned back just in time to watch the first two of their pursuers crumple lifelessly to the ground.  Lestrange and Snape pushed by him in their hurry to escape, but Lucius stayed frozen.

The witch, for the voice had certainly been a woman's, swayed on her feet.  It seemed she had been hit.  Lucius felt as if he was being torn in two.  He wanted to run, his mind was screaming at him to go, but something stronger was begging him to help her, and it was this sudden irrepressible impulse that drew him back to her side.  He caught her body as she fell, and saw beneath her black hood a lock of distinct blonde hair.  

**OOoo..ooOO**

The waking world gently roused Lucius.  He rolled over onto his back and coaxed his eyes to open as dreams and reality settled into place.  The pain and passion of the night before returned to his conscious mind.  He turned to seek out his wife, not knowing quite what to expect.  

A frown settled upon his features at the surprising sight before him.  Narcissa was sitting up, scouring the pages of a heavy leather bound book that lay across her lap.  Piles of other texts were scattered on the bed around her.  She had donned his black shirt, achieving an air of casual attractiveness that almost undid Lucius all over again, however, he managed to restrain himself, and simply cleared his throat quietly.  

Narcissa's attention was drawn immediately away from the tome.  The utter calmness of her gaze engulfed Lucius and took him unawares.  How could this possibly be the same woman that he had lain with the night before?  A woman seemingly so broken that he had considered abandoning her!  He stared at his wife, unable to articulate the change.  She responded with the soft shy smile that she reserved for him alone. 

"You slept well?" she enquired gently.

Lucius murmured uncommunicatively in reply, still looking deeply troubled by Narcissa's metamorphosis.  He glanced absently at the silent clock on his bedside table.  However, he did a double take, and stared dumbly at the clock face for a moment before rounding on his wife.

"I should have been at work four hours ago!" he growled furiously.  Narcissa calmly jotted something down on a scrap of parchment.

"I floo'ed your office," she confessed reluctantly, as she copied down a second extract from the book.

"What?" he snarled, taking the remark just as badly as Narcissa had been expecting.  He didn't appreciate her actively meddling in his Ministry affairs.  She was well aware of that, but she hadn't had the heart to wake him and pack him off to work.

"You needn't worry, I didn't say anything to discredit _you_ in any way," she said pointedly.  "I simply told them that I needed you at home today, that after my mother's death I couldn't cope without you," Narcissa confessed, embarrassed now by the explanation.  It had seemed so obvious when she'd been explaining it to Lucius' secretary.

"That lie just flew off your tongue did it?" he scowled bitterly, surprising Narcissa by the venom of his attack.  She stared at him, perplexed by his anger, unless of course.he didn't realise.

"It wasn't a lie," she said, managing to sound so matter-of-fact in her admission that Lucius wasn't certain that he'd heard her correctly.  Narcissa couldn't help smiling at the look of incredulity etched across his face.  "Is something wrong?" she asked lightly.

Lucius shook his head mutely, but a sudden tightness was constricting his chest, had Narcissa honestly just told him that she 'couldn't cope' without him?  Surely she was just teasing?  He lay back against the pillows and tried to quash the blissful rush enveloping him.  It didn't seem possibly, and yet the night before, before he'd fully succumbed to her intoxication, she'd spoken about 'needing' him then too.  He watched her covertly out of the corner of his eye.  She seemed positively buoyant in comparison to her defeated state the day before.

"You do seem," he began, unable to stop his eyes narrowing suspiciously, "a lot more like yourself this morning, Narcissa," he finished, almost accusingly.  He watched as his wife leant her head to one side.

"I thought that's what you wanted?" she pointed out, a little surprised by his remark.

"So this is all an act for my benefit?"

"No," she ground out, trying desperately to keep her temper.  "I was pushed past my limit last night, but instead of being broken, I was just reminded of a few things."

"Such as?" he murmured, more harshly than he meant too, simply infuriated by his sudden inability to decipher his wife.

"Who I am," she replied, frowning, not at her husband, but seemingly at herself.  "I did mean to thank you for that, not infuriate you, Lucius," she confessed contritely.

"Did you now?" he murmured, confused by her regretful admission.  

Narcissa nodded her fair head and turned to look at him.  Her eyes were oddly pensive as they studied his features.  She couldn't stop the colour rising to her face when she caught sight of the marks her nails had scored across his body.

"I meant to ask you," she said suddenly, tugging her gaze back to his face and away from the red scratches trailing his torso.  "I want to know why you came back last night."

"No you don't," he refuted her claim crisply.  

Narcissa opened her mouth to object, but, as she often did, seemed to think better of it at the last moment because she merely sighed deeply and nodded her head in grim resignation.  She turned a couple of pages of the book without really looking at them, while silently telling herself that she would keep her head and refrain from rash actions.  Lucius watched her submission with some surprise, as he always did when she used it to wrong-foot him, and then willed himself to speak.

"Narcissa," he began, his voice strained, "last night.I didn't mean to hurt you," he finished difficultly.  

Lucius frowned, baring understanding his own motivation.  The desire to hurt her had been the lure that had dragged him back, but he hadn't been able to follow through.  He had never wanted to emulate her father, and he'd never before been forced to hear that something he'd done had actually inflicted damage upon his wife.

Narcissa gently closed her book and laid it aside before turning back to face him, guilt needling away at her conscience.

"You didn't hurt me, Lucius.  Not in the way you mean anyway," she murmured softly.  She twisted her fingers in the sheets but forced herself to maintain eye contact with him.  The frown that lodged itself on Lucius' face tested her resolve, but didn't quite break her down.

"I don't understand."

"I knew it was the only way that I could stop you," she muttered.  Narcissa's voice was barely louder than a whisper, and she did now let her eyes fall away from his, down to her hands, which were still toying agitatedly with the bedclothes.  Lucius must have followed her gaze, because he reached out and stilled her hands with his own.

"And why was stopping me so imperative," he growled, circling her palm with his thumb, "when a few minutes later you were quite willing to- no in fact you _asked_ me to take you to bed?"  

"Because," she began nervously, "I needed to give you what you wanted.  I couldn't let you just take it."  Lucius dipped his head, and beneath his breath cursed his wife's fondness for riddles, but she ignored his muttering.  "Besides, I didn't know what you'd do last night," Narcissa added, an unmistakeable tremor evident in her voice.

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked slowly, unsure as to whether or not he wanted to hear her answer.  He tried to release her, only to find that her hands were still holding his.

"I mean," Narcissa began carefully, "that you would do absolutely anything to protect the Malfoy name," she licked her lips and then ploughed on, "and if I should became a threat to that good name." she paused meaningfully, and let the sentence trail off unfinished.  

"How could _you_ ever sully this family's reputation?" Lucius wondered, dumbfounded, but then his eyes narrowed.  "Although there are members of your family whose mere existence does indeed prove a constant embarrassment," he said scornfully, watching as she braced herself against the attack he'd directed towards her parents.

"I can't help that," she breathed, her fingers trailing lightly over his naked hands, letting his words pass without a reminder that some members of her family were definitely not an embarrassment.  "Besides, it doesn't matter now," she added matter-of-factly.  

Lucius allowed a puzzled look to grace his features.

"Why not?"

Narcissa blinked, just as bewildered by her husband's question as he was by her statement.  

"Because I am _your_ wife.  You and Draco are the only family I have."

Lucius swallowed the smile that was threatening to spread out across his face, and instead worked hard to arrange his features into their typically cool, ambiguous smirk.

"Then by your own admission you are a Malfoy," he drawled slowly, "and thus a part of the family you say I will do anything to protect," Lucius paused, and stilled the movement of her hands.  His eyes glittered wickedly.  "Do you think I would do _anything_ to protect you, Narcissa?"

"I-I didn't mean _me_," she stammered awkwardly, her eyes wide with disbelief, wholly unprepared for the route he'd decided to take.  She chewed her bottom lip, watching the dry smirk that was teasing the corner of her husband's mouth.

"I had a feeling you didn't," Lucius murmured drolly.  He lifted her left hand to his lips and laid a soft, wet kiss against her palm.  Narcissa could only gasp in surprise, and then feel herself begin to melt as he whispered against her skin:  "But in case I should ever ask again, I believe the answer is yes." 

- 


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Eternally Bound

**Tainted Love**

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.

Acknowledgement(s): Kirixchi, for sorting out Narcissa's reaction in the third paragraph and designing the drawing room. Michelle, for helping Lucius escape. ;c)

**Tainted Love**

**Chapter Seventeen: Eternally Bound**

Latent silence filled the bedroom. Lucius expected to hear Narcissa reject his declaration, question his sincerity, proclaim her independence. She had done so countless times before. His wife had _never_ welcomed, or indeed trusted, his protection. Lucius lifted his mouth from her hand, listened with smug satisfaction to her soft mew of protest, but then he waited without hope. He prepared himself to hear Narcissa profess her own strength, her own capabilities… and in doing so brand him wholly dispensable… but his wife remained uncharacteristically quiet.

Her eyes rested on his face, oddly bright, seemingly trying to judge the truth of his words. Her lips parted, as if she desperately wanted to speak, but she said nothing. Lucius raised a quizzical, taunting eyebrow at her dumbstruck silence, but Narcissa wasn't baited. She frowned and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She was trapped between two polar reactions. She didn't want to admit her dependency, she had never wanted that, but then, her husband had _never_ offered his support so unconditionally before.

"Lucius, I-" Narcissa stammered awkwardly.

Without volition her free hand reached towards him, desperate for his touch. She was shocked by the impulse that seized her - to throw her arms around him and lose herself in the chimera of concern that he had offered. _No_. Narcissa forced her searching limb to still. She had suffered too much to take Lucius' words to heart. She carried too many battle scars to risk being rejected. Narcissa lowered her lids, and failed to see the breathless gleam of…_something_…in her husband's eyes. She steadied herself, and then let her hand drop onto a nearby book.

"I hate it when you tease me," she breathed, regressing, blinking sadly as she tugged her other hand free from his grasp. She heard Lucius' heavy sigh, and looked up to see the light in her husband's eyes flicker indecipherably before his gaze frosted over completely. Something buried deep within her screamed impotently, but Narcissa simply tried to ignore this wretched pang.

"I never meant to be such a bother, Lucius," she began at length, hardening her voice, her poise, her entire aura, as she drew her body up proudly. It would be all right. Her eyes glittered defiantly; she had found a way to rectify all of her recent mistakes. They could go back to how things had been, couldn't they? That _was_ what she wanted after all, Narcissa told herself firmly. "Besides you won't have to bother about me for very much longer," she said aloud.

"What do you mean by that?" Lucius snapped, almost concealing the raw concern that suddenly wanted to fill his voice. Narcissa's well-being was something he knew that he would 'bother' himself with until the grim spectre of Death parted them.

However, ignorant of her husband's grave thoughts Narcissa simply frowned mildly. She stared at him in confusion because she couldn't fail to read the masked tension filling his body.

"Well, that's what the books are for," she said matter-of-factly. Narcissa drew a little further away from Lucius and let her eyes wander over the various tomes scattered about the bed. "I'm looking for a couple of potions."

"What for?" Lucius growled.

"For me of course!" Narcissa exclaimed with a frown, as if this was obvious and she couldn't understand why Lucius hadn't been able to reach this conclusion by himself. "To counteract the effects of the Fetch," she paused, "and to suppress my nightmares, now that I know they annoy you."

"They don't 'annoy' me, they-" Lucius broke off abruptly. Narcissa was truly back on form, clinical self-assurance radiated from her. Perversely, he had rather enjoyed being allowed to look after her for once. He wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to lose her reliance. "I'm not sure that I'm happy about you taking anything that hasn't been prescribed," he commented churlishly, but was then momentarily distracted by a tatty little text that he had just noticed, almost hidden amide the larger books that his wife had gathered about herself. He reached for it curiously, but Narcissa's frown had darkened and halted the pleasure that had been about to curve his lips into a smile.

"Really Lucius, what's the worst that can happen?" she demanded tartly. "I'll find the right potions and, assuming that we have the correct ingredients, I'll mix them today," she finished with unwavering confidence, but Lucius looked far from pleased.

"I could ask Snape-" he began slowly, but was viciously interrupted by his wife.

"I would sooner drink poison than a potion brewed by that man!"

Her features had paled and her eyes shone with malice, but even though this new burst of anger was directed straight at him, Lucius had to admit - he found it extremely gratifying that Narcissa's old alliance with Severus Snape had been irrevocably broken. Not that he had ever felt seriously threatened by his wife's old school friend, he reminded himself swiftly.

"You weren't always so averse to accepting his help," Lucius found himself adding coolly, despite his previous reasoning.

"He left me to die, Lucius!" Narcissa exclaimed furiously. Her eyes were blazing, but her husband's next assertion dowsed their flames.

"I know. I was there."

Narcissa felt her anger seep away, only to be replaced by a great gaping chasm of regret. How many times had Lucius rescued her? She ridiculed and tormented him because he had been forced to rely upon her to save him from Azkaban, and yet he never used such weapons against her. Narcissa glanced across the bed at her husband, confused and guilty, and at a loss to understand him.

"What if you hadn't have been, Lucius?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. She drew her knees up under her chin as her eyes misted over with the memory of that fateful night.

**OOoo..ooOO**

She had woken with a breathless start.

Shadows and fear had haunted her dreams.

Shadows and fear… and a reassuring presence.

Narcissa's eyes flickered dimly around her surroundings as if drugged. She was lying in the centre of a plush bed, but the room was too softly lit for her to see properly. Her mind was hazy, muddled enough to let her lie in the unfamiliar space without panicking as she fought to find her memories. The last thing that she could remember was the strangest sensation of searing pain. Hot and aching it had seemed to radiate from her side until it filled her whole being. Her fingers searched her body hesitantly for the injury. There was a hole in the fabric of her simple black robes, but no wound at all, not even the lingering trace of a scar.

Slowly fragments of her memory began to return like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She had gone to London with Severus, to take part in a covert operation for Lord Voldemort. It had been her very first assignment, and had taken her completely by surprise. She had had no prior warning of what was coming. She had been given no time to think, to dwell upon what she was being asked to do. Severus had simply arrived at Cotehele and they'd left for London almost immediately. Apparently, Lord Voldemort did not feel the need to inform her of anything else.

Refusing the order had never occurred to Narcissa. She had gone to discover exactly what it meant to be a supporter of the Dark Lord. Severus had told her that Lucius would probably be there. She was worried by the strength that this lure had upon her, but not until she'd heard the cool drawl of his voice had she let herself fully believe that he would be present.

As she lay in the unfamiliar bed, Narcissa couldn't stop an excited shiver from passing over her body. She had seen how powerful Lucius really was now, how commanding and completely unflappable when put under pressure. Her lips curled into a slow, desirous smile. She couldn't help but wonder what it would take to break that composure, to strip away his reserve, to uncover the real man beneath the decadent mask.

She expelled her breath in a soft relaxed sigh, but then gasped as a new memory resurfaced. Something in London had gone wrong. She had been shot. Again her hand flew to her side; that was what had happen to her. A Muggle had shot her! And then. she had killed those men. Ice flooded her veins. _She had killed those men._ Narcissa screwed her eyes shut. They were only Muggles - they didn't matter. She had to believe that if she was to live with herself.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that she was a murderer. She hadn't even learnt how to cast Avada Kedavra yet. She'd been forced to use one of her old duelling spells. If they couldn't block that then they deserved to die, she reason scornfully, forcefully… desperately. They were far too weak to survive, and weakness was fatal in the world that Narcissa Varvara inhabited.

Nevertheless, she could still be sent to Azkaban for her crimes. Narcissa trembled; she couldn't be sent to prison. She'd rather die. The rumours that she'd heard about Azkaban pierced her soul. There was no force in Heaven or Hell that would compel her to cross the threshold of the wizard prison!

However she didn't have time to dwell upon these fears. She had to find out where she was, but more importantly, she had to find her wand. Her mind was beginning to sharpen. Panic and fear were starting to make their presence felt. She slipped out of the bed, fumbled her way across the dark room towards the faint outline of a window and tugged at the heavy curtains. The weak light of a late summer's evening seeped into the room just as something in her peripheral vision moved. Narcissa let out a sharp gasp and spun around.

It was only a painting. She gave a weak, self-mocking laugh and tried to steady her nerves. The moving picture looked strangely familiar. She squinted and then took a step towards it. It was a dragon. The great beast turned its huge yellow eyes to her and raised its magnificent head. Narcissa's breath caught in her throat and her mouth parted slightly. It was the Pendragon! She stood as still as an ice sculpture, staring in confused disbelief at the creature, until she mustered the strength to take a few more steps towards the artwork.

The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, but she paid little heed to the muted sound. In fact, she was so captivated by the image on the canvas that she failed to notice that the soft creaking didn't cease when she stopped moving. Unbeknown to Narcissa, someone was approaching the bedroom that she had woken in just minutes earlier. A figure was stalking along the adjacent corridor, and after only a few short moments the room's door swung open silently.

From the shadows of the passageway walked a man. He paused for a second. His hooded eyes skated over the back of Narcissa's figure. She was still studying the painting intently, completely oblivious to the fact she was being watched. The wizard's gaze ran over the golden hair tumbling in loose waves down her back, observing its sharp contrast to the oppressive black material of the simple dress she wore. He crossed the room stealthily, knowing the exact route to take and which floorboards to avoid. He stopped just behind Narcissa, and briefly contemplated his next move.

"I see you've finally woken up."

Narcissa's breath escaped her lungs in a sharp hiss, as she listened to the all too familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy speaking alongside her right ear. She froze, unable to turn around and face him, unable to move at all. Her skin prickled under the sudden knowledge that he of all people was standing right behind her, close enough to stir her hair with his breath.

Not knowing quite what to do, Narcissa let instinct take over. She raised her chin defiantly, kept her eyes locked on the painting and stayed silent. Nevertheless a breathless gasp betrayed her when a warm hand was laid against her side.

"How do you feel?" Lucius murmured, as his long fingers gently circled the area where the Muggle bullet had once been lodged.

"Fine," she breathed in a strangled whisper.

"Good."

Narcissa tried to suppress a shiver when she felt his breath against her neck, but failed hopelessly when both of Lucius' hands moved to her waist. His touch was lethally beguiling, for Narcissa suddenly found that she had been eased around to face him. Her dazed gaze flickered over Lucius' features, noting that there were faint shadows etched beneath his brilliant eyes and scratches criss-crossing the left side of his face.

"I-I don't understand," she stammered clumsily, as she continued to stare at him nervously. His whole manner was uncharacteristically soft and subdued, but this docility only served to unnerve Narcissa.

"Don't you? I think you have the advantage over me," he murmured.

He was studying her face closely, and Narcissa had to admit that being the absolute centre of his attention was somewhat overwhelming. She licked her lips hesitantly, and vainly attempted to tell herself than he was no different to any of the other men she knew. She would have taken a disarming backwards step to defuse the situation, but his hands were still resting on the curve of her waist, holding her still.

"What do you mean?" she asked eventually.

"How long have you known what I am?" Lucius demanded roughly. Narcissa flinched. His grip on her waist tightened a fraction, almost as if he was afraid that she would try to flee.

"I don't know exactly," Narcissa said awkwardly. She really didn't want to reveal how deeply embroiled she was just yet; she didn't want Lucius to know that a decision of hers had nearly cost him his life. "A couple of months," she confessed hesitantly, giving a little ground under the weight of Lucius' hard stare. He looked momentarily taken aback.

"That long?" he muttered to himself. "You never said anything," he added accusingly, staring hard at Narcissa.

"What could I have said?" she whispered faintly. Narcissa pulled her gaze away from his and stared blankly at his chest.

"_Snape_ knew all about your involvement though, didn't he?" Lucius demanded with a sneer.

"That's different, Severus-" she stopped mid-sentence. All of her memories had flooded back now. Severus had abandoned her, he had left her to be caught, left her to die. Her eyes rose to meet Lucius'. "He left me," she hissed icily. Lucius frowned darkly and then glanced away. There was a muscle jumping in his suddenly clenched jaw.

"What did you expect?" he demanded sharply. "Of course he left you."

Narcissa leant her head to one side, and then said, without thinking:

"But you didn't." Almost as if she subconsciously didn't want to think about the implications of her words, she rushed on: "How _did_ you manage to escape?"

Lucius' eyes returned to her face, and then narrowed a fraction. Narcissa watched the tiny reflex action, under the distinct impression that he was judging just how much he thought was safe to reveal to her. To her disappointment his hands slid from her waist as he loosely folded his arms across his chest.

"Things are rarely as they seem," he began slowly. Narcissa raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his trite remark. "How do you suppose we even knew that this meeting was taking place between the Muggle Prime Minster and the late Mr Brocklehurst?" Lucius went on to ask, but he didn't wait for Narcissa to answer. "One of the Aurors has rather divided loyalties." He smirked unpleasantly. "Auror _and_ Death Eater, quite the paradox."

"Who?" Narcissa gasped.

"You wouldn't know him," Lucius replied promptly.

"And it would seem you want to keep it that way," Narcissa responded shrewdly.

"It would seem so."

They stared at one another, Narcissa longing, but not quite daring to press the point, while Lucius hid his amusement as he watched the indecision battle across her face. Once she had conquered her frustrated interest Narcissa remarked mildly:

"So, did the others manage escape too?"

Lucius studied her closely for a moment, trying to gauge whether genuine concern or mere curiosity had prompted the question. He guessed the latter.

"They escaped from the Aurors, but whether the Dark Lord will be willing to overlook a certain mistake remains to be seen," he smirked.

"I see," Narcissa murmured softly. She couldn't help but wonder if she too would be punished. "And now," she sighed distractedly, "I'm at your house." She glanced over her shoulder at the Pendragon painting. Her eyes narrowed apprehensively while Lucius stayed silent for so long that she didn't think he was going to answer.

"My father's for the time being. This is my room though," he remarked, his voice was bland, but Narcissa decided it was safest not to comment on this fact. A small frown crossed her face instead.

"Where's my wand?" she asked. With a half smile Lucius pulled the length of rosewood out of his pocket.

"I didn't want to give you the opportunity of scurrying away without saying goodbye," he said evenly, but his eyes seemed to be laughing. "Powerful little thing, isn't it?" he mused, running his fingers over it thoughtfully. The slender rod of enchanted wood had proven its deadly potential. Lucius' eyes flickered back to its owner, but of course, alone a wand was nothing.

Narcissa was looking indignant.

"Implying what?" she snapped. "That I should have a more delicate, refined wand, more suited to charms than curses?"

Lucius laughed disarmingly. Narcissa scowled and pressed her lips together, only for Lucius' eyes to lessen in a smile.

"You have a wicked temper, Miss Varvara."

"You say that as if it were a compliment!" she cried irritably.

"Perhaps it was, you needn't be quite so defensive," he murmured, handing Narcissa back her wand. Its tip was pointed squarely at his own chest. "I'm not attacking you."

"Not yet," she muttered bleakly. Her fingers coiled around the rosewood handle. She felt strangely empowered. She was armed - Lucius was not. Had he planned that intentionally?

"You're the one hissing and spitting," he pointed out, pausing momentarily before adding, "and all I did was save you."

Narcissa flushed. She lowered her wand, slipped it into the pocket of her dress as her hand curled around her side once more. Her eyes sought out his, wide with the realisation that she might be dead if not for Lucius.

"Why did you?" she whispered shyly.

The atmosphere changed, the lightness vanished and a heavy aching tension was suddenly between them.

"I don't know exactly," he confessed, his voice was rough, his eyes intense. "I-" he faltered.

Narcissa's own eyes widened in wonder. She had never seen him like this - never imagined that anything could undermine his granite composure.

"Lucius?" Narcissa breathed uncertainly. He raised two fingers and pressed them gently against her trembling lips.

"I want to kiss you," he confessed, his voice a low guttural rasp. "I want to take you. I want this over and finished," he growled, "but-"

"But?" Narcissa pressed. His fingers had left her mouth, his hand now cupped her chin.

"But I might have this wrong," he groaned. "I might start something I can't stop."

Narcissa didn't respond; she was quite beyond rationalising the new feelings engulfing her body. She wanted him. She wanted to please him, but she wasn't sure she knew how. He stood wavering on the brink. Should she push him over? She took one small step forwards, moving herself as close to Lucius as possible without actually touching him. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint traces of his cologne, it was almost too much to bear.

"Lucius," she begged, revelling in the luxury of speaking his name.

Narcissa lifted her hand to trace the grazes that covered his face. The light caress of her fingers against his skin was enough to shatter Lucius' fragile restraint. With a low growl he dipped his head, and his lips touched hers for the very first time. He heard Narcissa gasp as the unequivocal rightness of the action stole his own breath. The gentlest kiss that he was able to bestow parted Narcissa's mouth and unlocked her to him forever.

His fingers were still curled around her chin, but when Lucius felt her arms slide around his neck his hands moved to the small of her back and coaxed her closer. With a soft, hungry little sigh Narcissa moved against him and felt his body tense. _She shouldn't be doing this_, but she knotted her fingered in his hair anyway. A guttural moan lodged itself in the back of her throat as Lucius continued to masterfully enslave her lips. She knew all too well that once she gave him what he wanted she would lose any chance of keeping him, but how could she contemplate stopping when her whole life seemed to have been leading up to this very moment?

Lucius' hands travelled up the column of Narcissa's spine and then moved over her body, as he gave himself up her raw, untutored passion. The shaky gasp elicited from her lips drove him on as he guided her across the room.

Narcissa felt the side of the bed press against the back of her legs and a new feeling joined her desire. Fear. She had never lain with a man before. Lucius could read as much in her eyes. He lowered his mouth once more, covering hers, triggering an explosion of sensation that reverberated through her untested body. He wanted to possess her, for that possession would be absolute. She would be his and his alone. The sudden occurrence of this thought terrified Lucius. He was binding himself to her.

"You should stop me," he rasped, even as he eased her down onto the mattress. He held his body over hers, taught with the tension of his leashed desire. Her lips, lush and red, parted uncertainly, but then she blinked and a resolute certainty filled her being.

"I don't want you to stop, Lucius," Narcissa whispered huskily, consenting to her fate.

**OOoo..ooOO **

"What are you thinking about?" Lucius' calm voice enquired curiously.

Narcissa blushed furiously and lowered her head. Everything had changed that night. She had become a part of Lucius in a way that she still didn't fully understand. She had given herself up to him rashly, completely. eternally.

Her husband studied her perceptively for a moment, but he decided not to push her, instead he reached for the tatty little text that had caught his interest earlier. He ran his fingers over the worn spine, and then read the author and title aloud, smiling as he did so:

"Sesruc's _Advanced Curses_," he drawled deliberately. Narcissa abandoned her own thoughts and turned slowly to face him. "I'm surprised you still have this," he breathed, carefully opening the front cover of the book.

"Why?" Narcissa asked quietly. Did he remember? Surely not, surely he was just teasing her?

"It's practically falling apart for a start," Lucius murmured as he traced a thumb over the neatly scribed name of the seventeen year old girl who would grow up to be his wife. "And I'm sure you must know every curse in here off by heart."

"Perhaps that's not why I've kept it," she confessed softly, assuming that he didn't remember the book's significance, and then, terrified that he would ask her to explain herself, reiterated her earlier question quickly: "What if you hadn't been there?"

Lucius frowned, somewhat surprised by the abrupt change of topic.

"Hadn't been where?"

"If you hadn't been in London," she pressed. Her eyes lingered on his face, what if he hadn't been there, or if she hadn't been shot. or if they hadn't spent that night together? Narcissa drew a shaky breath. Would she even be Mrs Lucius Malfoy if not for that night?

"You think too much, Narcissa," Lucius drawled slowly, but once confronted with the question his mind had to seek an answer. There would have been another London, he reasoned, another time, another place; it seemed to him certain that the woman by his side had been destined to become his own.

"That is not an answer, Lucius," Narcissa sighed in annoyance. "Don't you think that night set things in motion?"

"I think you set things in motion, my dear," he breathed, toying with the book with a meaningful glance in his wife's direction.

**..ooOOoo..**

Draco dug his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground with the toe of his shoe. A cloud of dust rose into the air as gravel scattered everywhere. He glanced up at the Manor, and wondered whether or not it was safe to go inside. He had been able to forget about everything at Crabbe's, or at least, try to ignore all the things that currently seemed to be going wrong in his life: his mother's illness, his grandmother's death, the fact Blaise's aunt kept popping up and driving a wedge between his parents… and to think, at the beginning of the summer holidays all he'd been worried about was telling his father that he'd almost failed transfiguration!

With a heavy sigh Draco sat down on the ornate stonewall that skirted the Manor's front courtyard. Even if something had gone really wrong between his parents, people of their social stature didn't get divorced, did they? Wizard marriage vows were practically unbreakable anyhow, and besides, Draco didn't think that his father would suffer the slur to the family name. He was actually very glad of this, he almost didn't care whether or not his parents were happy, just as long as they stayed together, as selfish as Draco knew this thought was, it was how he felt.

He smiled sadly, he couldn't imagine a world in which his mother wasn't there to recklessly berate his father, to stand in the eye of a tornado and feel no fear. He almost laughed aloud; neither did he want to contemplate listening to his mother complain about all the time he 'wasted' on Quidditch without his father shooting quelling glances at his wife before assuring Draco that, whatever his mother said, Quidditch was something he was very free to 'waste' his time on. He grinned, so there were one or two things about being home that he didn't mind after all.

Draco was just standing up, having decided that it was time to try and find out if he'd missed anything important the previous evening, when he noticed that there was an old man walking across the courtyard towards him. The stranger looked ancient, he was carrying a heavy wooden staff and was dressed in grey robes that may once have been white. The rare smile slid from Draco's face to be replaced by a hard glare. His cold, silvery eyes narrowed suspiciously as he let the man walk the length of the courtyard without moving.

"You are the son of Narcissa Astolat?" the man asked brusquely.

"I'm the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," Draco replied with a sneer and a confused frown. The old man's nostrils flared.

"We are loath to recognise that union," he said. His voice did not betray anger, but Draco sensed that was the emotion running beneath his words. "I need to speak with your mother."

"I don't know if she's fit to see visitors," he replied insolently.

"She will see me."

Draco shifted uneasily. There was something unnerving about the man. It took him a few moments to discern what was amiss. It was his eyes, Draco decided at length, they didn't blink, blue pools that seemed to look straight into his soul. He had only ever seen eyes vaguely like them once before, set in the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"All right," he snapped. "I suppose you'd better come inside."

"No," the old man argued unwaveringly. "I will wait here. I do not wish to enter that house."

"Fine!" Draco snarled, scowling blackly as he stomped off towards the house.

He wrenched open the front doors and stormed into the Manor. What was the man trying to imply? Did he think himself too good for them? Draco felt his temper soar; the man had looked like a tramp of sorts! How dare he imply that the conversing with the Malfoys was beneath him! Draco crashed into the drawing room, intending to cut through to the rooms on the opposite side of the house in search of his mother. The heavy doors groaned on their hinges under the force with which they had been thrown open.

"Doors have handles, Draco, see that you use them," drawled his father's voice.

Draco started; he thought his father would be at work, but for some reason here he was, sitting on a chaise lounge reading an astonishingly tatty old book in the largest of the formal receiving rooms.

The drawing room's high ceiling and grand windows made it one of the most impressive rooms of the whole house. Decorated in ice blue the room's walls were lined with thick wallpaper, intricately decorated with elegant silver motifs. However, Draco, whose frown became a lot less angry and a lot more worried at the sight of his father, observed none of this; he was far too busy wondering if his father's presence meant that his mother had suffered a relapse.

"Is mother worse?" he demanded instantly.

"No," Lucius stated crisply, glancing up from the worn pages of the book, "she's feeling much better actually."

Well enough to go about her potion brewing alone, he added silently. Probably in an attempt to reassert herself, Lucius reasoned wearily. He had offered to help once it became clear to him that Narcissa was not going to be swayed from her little mission, but she had told him that she would manage and then shooed him away, and so now he was wasting the afternoon indulgently reacquainting himself with a number of old curses.

"Oh, good," Draco said at length, rather surprised, but very pleased that one of his worries seemed to have been alleviated. Nevertheless he decided not to ask why his father was at home if his mother was really fine. "Because there's a man outside who says he wants to see her."

Lucius closed the book. His brow furrowed irritably.

"Outside?"

Draco nodded, and then explained:

"He wouldn't come in, he said- um," Draco faltered slightly. His father's intense stare was resting squarely on him and Draco doubted that he'd appreciate hearing the strangers exact words recounted. "Well, he seems a bit. odd."

"Show me," Lucius said slowly, laying his book aside and getting to his feet. He followed his son across the parquet floor to the window that looked out over the grounds at the front of the house. The old man was still standing where Draco had left him, staff in hand, staring blanking at the Manor.

"Do you know who he is?" Draco asked curiously, glancing up at his father. Lucius was looking grim, but before he could find a suitable answer to his son's question Narcissa entered the room through one of the panelled side doors.

"Whatever are you two doing in here?" she asked curiously, as she rubbed her hands in the damp cloth that she was carrying. The family didn't often use the drawing room, although Lucius had a strange partiality to it that she had never been able to fathom. "And what are you staring at so intently?" she asked a second later, noticing where her husband and son's attention lay.

Narcissa wandered over to join them, wiping her hands clean from the remnants of potion ingredients that covered them. Draco turned first, an unmistakable grin flashing across his face when he observed his mother's confident, healthy countenance.

"There's a Druid here to see you, dearest," Lucius drawled, his tone unreadable. Narcissa's expression was sudden just as indecipherable as her husband's voice.

"I thought one of them would visit sooner or later," she muttered heavily. "What has he said?" Lucius raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"You don't actually think he would speak to _me_ do you?" he sneered. "No, he spoke to Draco."

"Draco?" Narcissa repeated. Her son glanced up at her, was it his imagination or had there been a note of alarm in her usually cool voice?

"He just said that he wants to speak to you, mother."

"That's all he said?" Narcissa asked carefully.

"More or less," Draco replied uneasily, both of his parents turned to him expectantly. Draco hesitated and wondered which of the Druid's remarks was safest to repeat. "Well, he did ask if I was the son of Narcissa Astolat."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lucius snored derisively. Narcissa turned to her husband and failed to suppress a glare.

"Well at least he didn't ask if Draco was the son of Narcissa Varvara, because that really would have infuriated you, Lucius! You need the stamp of ownership that the name Malfoy gives you, don't you?" she spat angrily.

She couldn't bear Lucius' grudging acceptance of her heritage, but her husband looked remarkably unperturbed by her outburst. In fact if Narcissa had taken the time to notice, she may have spotted a glimmer of amusement flicker in the deepest depths of his eyes.

"But it was a name you were very keen to take," he whispered, his voice so low that Draco missed his remark. Narcissa didn't. Her body tensed with embarrassment, but she swiftly decided on a rather different tactic to the hot fury that she usually employed when cornered.

"And one that you were all too eager to give away, my darling," she replied sweetly. She watched a flash of surprise fill her husband's eyes, before they softened in the subtlest of smiles. Watching this unexpected reaction in her husband, Narcissa felt her heart flutter unexpectedly, she almost lost herself in his gaze before she found the resolve to tug herself away as she prepared to face the Druid.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Lucius called after his wife.

"I can cope," Narcissa replied, glancing over her shoulder with a mild shake of her head.

"That _wasn't_ what I asked." Draco heard his father growl beneath his breath as he watched his mother leave the room.

**..ooOOoo..**

Narcissa stepped outside into the cooling summer air and walked down the steps to the gravelled courtyard in front of her house. There was an unpleasantly strong breeze coming off the river. It chilled her skin and pulled at the loose tendrils of her hair. She brushed a few stray strands out of her eyes, after which her gaze immediately fell upon the Druid. She watched with indifference as he bowed his head reluctantly when he noticed her appearance. Her chin was held high as she strolled over to where he was standing. Her stance was proud and unyielding. Her eyes focused.

"My lady," the Druid said gravely.

"What do you want?" Narcissa asked curtly, not standing on ceremony.

"You know what we want," the old man breathed calmly, as his piercing blue eyes bore into the woman standing opposite him. "We want you to bear a daughter."

Narcissa's diamond gaze hardened, while her lip curling in disgust at the Druid's crude bluntness. By her sides her hands had balled into tight fists to prevent her fingers reaching for her wand. He would not have dared be so forthright if she'd allowed Lucius to join her.

"That is never going to happen," she stated with a resolute sneer. "I made my decision fifteen years ago."

"Unmake it."

"I am a Malfoy now," Narcissa hissed, as if this explained everything, perhaps it did, but the old Druid simply shook his head. He waved his staff in a grand sweeping motion that forced Narcissa to take a backwards step.

"You are a priestess of Avalon," he asserted, stabbing at the ground with the heavy wooden rod.

"I was never ordained," Narcissa spat viciously.

"Your blood is that of the Lady. If you die without an heiress the line dies forever," the Druid paused, and allowed his fathomless gaze to drift over the Manor. "I have seen your Dragon now, your Draco," he murmured pensively.

"Stay away from my son," Narcissa hissed her voice deadly. She didn't know exactly what the Druid was implying but her hackles rose nonetheless.

"Your husband's son. The son he married you for," the Druid argued cuttingly. Narcissa's face contorted in revulsion, but the old man continued to speak. "You gave him a son, but he will not give you a daughter?"

"I don't want a daughter!" Narcissa's shrill exclamation echoed around the grounds.

"That is a lie."

"I think you should leave before I do something you'll regret," Narcissa breathed, her voice icy.

"My lady," murmured the Druid in a surprisingly disarming manner, as if there was nothing he'd rather do, "but I did not only come to repeat our former plea. I came to tell you that your mother's obsequies will take place the dawn after tomorrow at Tintagel."

"Well, you've told me," Narcissa snarled, "now go."

The Druid bowed his head once more, then turned and began to walk away. Narcissa watched his fading silhouette, with every step his shape began more indistinct, as if he was walking into a heavy mist despite the clearness of the afternoon. Narcissa was shaking by the time he disappeared in the celestial hazy completely. How _dare_ he! She was _not_ a broodmare! Narcissa turned around and was confronted with the imposing spectacle of the Manor. _She was not_, she reiterated, but much more weakly. She was more than Draco's mother, wasn't she?

Narcissa raised a hand to her temple as she walked back towards her home, certain that she could feel the beginnings of a headache. She should have checked to make sure that the combination of potions she was taking didn't have any unwelcome side effects. Of course, that probably wasn't why her head was starting to throb, she reasoned with a sardonic smile. To her surprise the Manor's front door was opened for her when she reached it. Lucius was standing there waiting.

"What did have to say?" he asked with hesitation.

"Nothing of consequence," Narcissa replied as she stepped inside and brushed passed her husband. She could feel his eyes watching her as she walked across the entrance hall away from him.

"For a woman usually so skilled at lying that was a truly abysmal attempt," he called out. Narcissa stopped and turned back to face Lucius.

"He came to tell me when my mother's funeral would be," she related, being typically selective with the truth. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then wandered back to where Lucius was still standing by the door, stopping only when she was close enough to lay a persuasive hand on his arm. "Lucius," she began softly, "I want Draco to go."

"Why?" Lucius growled, his eyes narrowing.

"I need him there. I need to be sure that I choices I made were the right ones."

Lucius stared at Narcissa. He suddenly felt as thought all the air had just been stolen from his lungs. He wasn't sure he could breathe.

"_Aren't_ you sure?" he demanded raggedly.

"How can I be, Lucius?" Narcissa asked meekly. "When I don't know what else my life could have been?" She watched as her husband scowled bitterly.

No one had the luxury of knowing how their life could have been different- better, Lucius argued silently.

"It would have been a life with Draco or I," he pointed out harshly. Narcissa started, but then to Lucius' surprise, she smiled. She craned her neck and then lightly brushed her lips against his own, murmuring softly as she did so:

"Then about some things I am sure."

**-**


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Tintagel Castle

**Tainted Love**

****

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.

**Tainted Love **

**Chapter Eighteen: Tintagel Castle**

* * *

_"Tintagel castle was built atop the high cliffs of southwest Albion fourteen centuries ago. Founded on a rocky peninsula the fortress's natural barriers made it virtually impregnable. Indeed, only one man ever succeeded in breaching its defences, and it is believed by many scholars that this was only achieved due to a very powerful enchantment (see index for references to 'Merlin' and 'Uther Pendragon')._

_This desolate castle was to be the birthplace of Arthur, who would live to unite the kingdom, but,_ _before the future king's birth was even a shadow in the minds of the greatest Seers of this forgotten age, another child was born to the Lady of Tintagel. The Lady Igraine bore a daughter, and she called the child Morgaine. Whom legend would ascribed the name Morgan le Fay."_

* * *

Lucius snapped the book shut. He was rather disgusted with himself for surrendering to the desire to reacquaint himself with one or two selectively forgotten facts. He had been told all about the legends of Tintagel as a boy, but he had never been to the ruins before. He knew no one that had been permitted to the hidden druidical realm of the castle… apart from Narcissa and she never spoke of it… not that he ever asked her to...

It remained a subject of some tension between them. Tintagel and the Druids encompassed an aspect of Narcissa's life that was alien to her husband. They represented to Lucius the different life that Narcissa could have led had she never married him. The life she had alluded to after being told about her mother's funeral. With a visible grimace he slid the offending text back into its allotted place on the mantelpiece, turning away just as the door to the yellow sitting room swung open and admitted his wife.

Narcissa gave a little start of surprise on finding her husband in the chamber. Her footsteps faltered to a halt. While she did not consider the room to be 'hers', in the same sense that the small library belonged to Lucius, it was nevertheless the room from which she wrote her correspondence and managed the daily running of the Manor. To the best of her knowledge Lucius did not usually enter it alone.

She frowned and felt… invaded, but swiftly reminded herself that she had little justification for feeling thus. Lucius was the master of the Manor - everything in the house belonged to him. Narcissa rarely let herself forget that fact, even if it was a point that had never been enforced and even if she had taken liberties in the past.

"I didn't know you were in here," she said softly, regarding him suspiciously as she spoke.

"I wasn't aware that the fact needed to be broadcast," Lucius replied dryly.

In truth, his sarcastic response was born more from his own awkwardness at being found in what he considered to be Narcissa's sitting room, very nearly caught rummaging through her books, than any real irritation with Narcissa herself, but his wife could not know that, and consequently was regarding him coldly.

"Don't. Not today, Lucius." She hissed the warning.

Habit made her glance in the direction of the window, before she belatedly realised that the curtains remained drawn. It was still dark outside, well before dawn. There would be no view of the rose garden to help clear her mind this morning – the morning of Elaine Varvara's funeral. Narcissa shivered, she knew that she needed to compose herself to the point of flawless perfection if she was to survive the difficult ordeal that awaited her. Her eyes narrowed; she really did not need to start the day off with a confrontation with her husband.

However, Lucius had made no reply to her admonition. The disappointment in her voice had been enough to silence him. He was failing her already. Furious with himself he moved across to the upright piano, which stood in one corner of the cosy, candlelit room, picked up the leather gloves that were lying there and tugged them on violently.

No mistakes. Not today. Not in front of them; not in front of him. He hated the feeling permeating his senses. The concept that _he_ was being judged, that _he_ had to prove himself worthy of his wife, was not one that sat at all well with Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa watched her husband's armouring dolefully. She wanted to reach out and stop him. She knew, though it frightened her, that she wanted to feel the steady, intimate warmth of his hand on her arm as he guided her through her mother's funeral service - not the supple softness of impersonal black leather. A ridiculous desire, she told herself firmly, neither etiquette nor Lucius would allow it.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, and shot an uncertain glance in his direction before giving her head a little shake. Her strength was beginning to wane, but that was no excuse to let Lucius see her falter. She had expected to snatch a few moments alone, but asking her husband to leave the sitting room was not a thought that crossed her mind. Even if it had, and even if she had been prepared to invoke his anger, she would not have said anything; she was not about to sacrifice the luxury of his company.

Narcissa moved across the room to a walnut cabinet, fully aware that her husband's profound gaze was now following her. She was still slightly reluctant to do so, but she would have to go about things with him present. She opened one of its glass fronted doors and pulled a crystal decanter filled with violet liquid from the inside shelf.

"Your miracle cure?" Lucius sneered.

He watched Narcissa tense. He had _meant_ to offer her his unconditional support today, but Lucius was still feeling vexed at being discovered in the yellow sitting room. On top of which, he still wanted Narcissa to go and see a professional medi-wizard – a desire he did not consider unreasonable. His wife merely shot him an annoyed glance. She reached back into the cabinet for a tiny glass, and filled it with a draught of the purple liquid.

Lucius watched, jaw clenched in frustration, as she raised the potion to her lips and swallowed it in a one short swig. Narcissa grimaced at the horrid taste, braced her body against the assault on its senses, and then placed the empty glass down on the sideboard carefully as a warm numbness replaced the tired aching of her limbs.

"Do you know if Draco's ready?" she asked with a hoarse cough, waiting impatiently for her body's equilibrium to return.

Her question was ignored, but a second later Narcissa found that a tumbler of water was being pressed into her hand. She glanced up into Lucius' eyes. He was standing over her, looking down, his face clouded with such mixed emotions that Narcissa could not even begin to guess his mood. She took a small sip of water and wished a thousand thoughts that did no good. The most recurrent of which was that she really didn't have the time to try and unravel the mystery of her husband today. She smiled wryly to herself, _as if that mystery could be unravelled even if she had all the time in the world._

"You look pale," Lucius affirmed slowly, running his eyes critically over her pallid features. He should have noticed earlier. The only hint of colour that touched Narcissa's face was drawn out by the make up she had carefully applied before quitting their bedroom, and that could no longer disguise her lacklustre appearance from her husband's keen gaze.

"It's the candlelight," Narcissa replied dismissively, as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass uncomfortably. "That and these horrid black clothes," she added with a sigh, wandering across the room so that she could stare at herself disapprovingly in the large gilt mirror that hung over the fireplace.

"No. It's not," said Lucius, his voice was low but even.

His easy contradiction caught Narcissa off guard. She allowed her features to darken in a troubled frown as she placed the glass of water down. A moment later she distractedly smoothed the black fabric of her mourning dress over the curve of her hips. Narcissa knew very well that her husband was not a man to give compliments freely, but she could usually sense his general approval of her appearance, and even in spite of her ill health she really hadn't thought that she warranted any criticism that morning. She did not want to encounter her father looking anything less than perfect.

Lucius could hardly help but notice his wife's downcast expression. He frowned grimly and then slowly walked over to where she was standing. With heavy sigh he attributed her unhappy silence to the trials that awaited her that day. He glanced over Narcissa's shoulder into the mirror, stopping behind her and resting a hand lightly on her waist. She had been watching his advance in the looking glass, but Lucius still heard Narcissa's breath catch in her throat when he touched her. He had to fight extremely hard to suppress the sudden urge that gripped him – the urge to encircle her safely in his arms as every fibre of his being crackled with the need to protect her.

"I will not let you do this alone, Narcissa," he breathed forcefully alongside her ear, unable to temper his desires completely.

"Whatever do you mean?" she remarked, attempting to be offhand in her reply, but the way her fingers were fiddling with a chain that hung beneath the high collar of her dress betrayed her agitation. Her husband's gloved hand snaked its way around her body and closed around her restless digits, holding them captive.

"Do not push me aside," Lucius warned coolly, looking into the reflected eyes of his wife. He could lose himself in those glassy orbs. He wondered - if he studied them for long enough could he unravel all of her secrets or would he only find a distorted echo of her true self? He wasn't afforded the opportunity to find out; Narcissa's lids had closed.

"That's a very _gallant_ sentiment, Lucius," she whispered difficultly. "But really, what do you intend to do? What can you do?" she continued swiftly, eyes reopening, spearing Lucius. "Nothing. There is nothing to be done. This whole-" she paused, struggling breathlessly to find the right word, "_fiasco_ must simply be endured."

Narcissa could feel her body trembling as she finished. She had been doing so well, and didn't now want to start considering everything that could go wrong! Her father was bound to cause a scene. He would undoubtedly provoke Lucius, who would have the Druids insults to contend with too. Lucius could rarely keep his temper as it was, but if he was attacked on two fronts it was surely a lost cause! Narcissa gave an inward groan. Perhaps her wish to take Draco wasn't a sensible idea after all? Perhaps going at all was a mistake? She turned around to face her husband.

"We don't have to go," she said earnestly, laying her hands flat against Lucius' chest.

A moment's silence followed this unexpected outburst, and then the even reply:

"We do."

"What? Why?" Narcissa gasped. She had expected Lucius' wholehearted agreement. They could forget about this ordeal, pretend that it wasn't happening, wasn't that what Lucius wanted after all? Her hands balled into desperate fists as she stared up at him imploringly. A second later she thought she understood. "Can't you think about anything but your blasted _reputation_, Lucius?" she snarled.

Lucius felt the first sharp prickle of anger at the prejudice of her attack, but he struggled to keep his temper in check.

"We are going because _you_ need to put the past to rest."

Lucius had also lost a mother, although death had not been the initial cause. Jocelyn Malfoy had ostracised herself forever the second that she had dared put her own wants and needs before those of the Malfoy family.

Lucius had gathered such a wealth of hatred against her. During the last year of Jocelyn's life, after her failed escape from her husband – the attempt forever memorialised by the river bridge – her son had avoided her at all costs. It was only after her death that he learnt how his father slowly crushed his fragile wife; breaking what little spirit she retained a piece at a time until she gave up on life.

Jocelyn had never written to her son for help. She had never asked to be rescued and Lucius had never considered saving her. He sometimes wondered what that meant. Intuition, coupled with this experience, told Lucius that Narcissa would be tormented by unanswered questions of her own if she missed this opportunity to exorcise the ghosts of her past.

Narcissa watched some of the pain evoked by these memories flit cross her husband's face. She was drawn to him, without quite realising what she was doing one of her hands moved to dance across his cleanly shaven jaw line. His wife's gentle touch shocked Lucius back to the present moment, but the harsh way his eyes focused on her made her recoil.

"Don't be angry," she begged, now stepping forward, her guard had dropped and she spoke the very first thought that entered her head. She winced and lowered her gaze; this was not the poised start to the day that she had wanted! Hiding behind the excuse of her illness no longer seemed an option, what then was causing her to act in this manner?

"Narcissa." The sound of her name on his lips was enough to lure her eyes back to his face. "I'm n-" Lucius was also speaking without thinking, but a knock interrupted him before he could finish. "Enter," he growled, already annoyed by the unusual number of disruptions upsetting his carefully ordered days.

Draco wandered into the sitting room. The Manor was his home, but he had learnt that there were certain doors and certain times when knocking was warranted.

The young Malfoy yawned; he hadn't been up long and the hour was still unearthly early. His bleary grey gaze flickered between his mother and father. Clearly he had interrupted something. Draco could feel his pale skin begin to colour, but while he was acutely embarrassed at seeing his parents in such intimate proximity, he was also more than a little relieved.

"There's another Druid waiting outside," he announced, hoping that his discomfort wasn't obvious.

"Already?" Narcissa sighed in irritation. She had hoped for more time. "I should go and see him," she said, glancing up at Lucius who was looking severe.

"Yes, _we_ probably should," he remarked pointedly.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows slightly. His assertion had surprised her, but she quickly recovered and said with a cool smile: "Behave, Lucius." She watched his lip curl in a sneer before turning to her son. "And you, Draco. I will _not_ tolerate any show of impropriety today," she finished, glancing sternly between her husband and son.

"Why Narcissa, anyone would think that you didn't trust us," Lucius drawled.

"That would be quite a gamble, don't you think? Daring to trust a Malfoy man?" Narcissa simpered innocently, moving towards the door where Draco was still standing.

Her barbed taunt was a little too raw to be quite typical of their usual banter. Had Narcissa been thinking perfectly clearly then she might not have touched such deep roots. However, Lucius simply smirked unpleasantly, and allowed his wife to think that the taunting tone of her voice had worked, that he could be fooled by her acerbic façade, and that he remained unwounded by her cutting remark. _Let her pretend everything was fine_, Lucius reasoned silently as he followed; he would keep a keen eye on her, and be ready to act if she should fall.

The family moved out of the sitting room, and began walking towards the front of the house. Narcissa had taken the lead, with her son a step behind. Lucius strolled a few paces after Draco, posture languid, mind alert.

"What's going to happen today?" Draco suddenly asked, to the surprise of one of his parents at least. Lucius watched his wife tense for the second time that morning. Her reaction was only just perceptible, but he noticed the slip.

"Good question," he remarked dryly, giving her time to recover though his harsh words concealed his motive. "Wouldn't we all like to know?"

"It's rather difficult to explain," Narcissa breathed uncomfortably, shooting a fractious glance over her shoulder at husband.

"Why don't you try? " Lucius pressed silkily.

"Fine," Narcissa muttered harshly beneath her breath, but she marched into the entrance hall and snatched her cloak from a waiting servant before continuing. "Draco, I know that your father and I have never told you a great deal about my family-"

"Abridged version, Narcissa," Lucius interjected with a glance at his gold pocket watch. He too was collecting his things: cloak, cane… his gloves were already in place of course. He ignored the way that Narcissa was staring at him, bristling indignantly, and lazily dismissed the maid.

"Draco, I believe what you father is trying to say," Narcissa began curtly, "is that my family- that is, what is not commonly known, or at least, commonly believed about my family, is that my mother-" she paused; she didn't quite know what to say, how to explain. She was stumbling over her words and she hated herself for it.

"Your grandmother's blood is beyond old, Draco," Lucius supplanted neatly. "It's ancient."

Narcissa blinked suspiciously. She could almost have believed that her husband had stepped in and spoken solely to afford her the opportunity to rally her thoughts, if only he hadn't looked quite so stern and forbidding when he was speaking. She sighed inwardly, and tried to push Lucius to the back of her mind; Draco was talking again.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that my mother was a descendant-" she began, but was sharply interrupted.

"That _you_ are a descendant, Narcissa," said Lucius, staring at his wife, "that _Draco_ is a descendant," he added softly. Narcissa stared back at him uncertainly. She could not recall Lucius ever before admitting their son to that privileged circle.

"We're descendants of who?" asked Draco impatiently.

Narcissa dragged her eyes away from Lucius' forbidding gaze and stared at her son. He looked older than his mere thirteen years, the black mourning attire no doubt contributed to the effect. She wished that she had told him sooner. Lucius had never expressly forbidden her from doing so, but it had seemed… disrespectful to the Malfoys to promote her own heritage, a heritage that was as good as dead. She blinked, shook her head, and the name fell bluntly from her lips:

"Morgan le Fay."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"What?" he exclaimed without thinking. He was unable to hide the shock suddenly stamped across his pale face. "We studied her in school. We-"

"I do not want this discussed in school, Draco," Narcissa said sharply. "This is not another weapon for you to add to your arsenal. I do not want my family mixed up in any of your schoolyard slander. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded his fair head seriously, but a look of clear misunderstanding was crossing his face. This was big, this was noteworthy, every one of his friends was a pureblood, but none of them could claim this kind of ancestry. He frowned and wondered at the secrecy surrounding the matter. A familiar twinge of anger stung him. Why hadn't he been told before? Why was he _always_ left in the dark?

Of course, he glanced at his mother; she was only a Malfoy by marriage, not blood. He couldn't imagine that his father would have wanted to promote the fact that his wife's blood was purer than his own. Draco's frown deepened, and a little of the awe left his face. He was a Malfoy. His mother's family didn't seem to be a part of that somehow.

"I won't say anything," he agreed quietly.

"Besides Draco, you might be less impressed with your mother's pedigree when you meet the people involved in maintaining it," Lucius drawled cruelly.

"You certainly were," Narcissa muttered beneath her breath.

"Well it's hard to like people who hate you," Lucius replied simply.

"Then that explains why you like no one," Narcissa quipped acidly. Her husband merely laughed infuriatingly and moved towards the door.

"Why do they hate you, father?" Draco asked uneasily.

He glanced passed his father, out of the now open doorway, and stared at the shadowy grey figure waiting out in the forecourt. Lucius followed his son's gaze, and said coolly:

"I'm sure they'll fill you in. They do seem to delight in the topic."

Narcissa brushed by Lucius with an audible, irritated little snort, stepping outside first in an effort to distant herself from her husband, who was steadily kindling her anger. The Druid glanced up on hearing the Malfoys quit the Manor. He wasn't the same man who had brought the news of Elaine's funeral two days earlier. He was younger and looked less daunting, although he was clad in the same grey robes and carried a similar, heavy staff.

"My lady," he said in neutral tones, bowing in Narcissa's direction.

Narcissa hesitated at this show of obsequiousness, and suddenly wished that she hadn't stormed out of the house first - that she wasn't effectively on her own, that Lucius wasn't standing a few steps behind her instead of holding her arm. Telling herself sternly not to be such a fool she waited to see if the Druid would extend any show of courtesy to her husband or son.

None was forthcoming.

"I take it you are here to transport us to Tintagel?" Narcissa asked slowly, a deep wintry chill crept into her voice. It was time to begin her act in earnest.

"Yes," the Druid replied tersely.

His gaze travelled disapprovingly over Lucius and Draco, who bore his censure with remarkable restraint, Narcissa noted. She couldn't decide if she was pleased or disappointed. She had been the one who had instructed them to behave themselves, but she hadn't actually expected them to heed her words. Suddenly, she rather wanted to hear Lucius' voice dripping with contempt as he put the young Druid firmly in his place, or to see Draco's features lit by the infuriatingly smug smirk he could summon at will.

"Step inside the circle," the Druid commanded without preamble.

Narcissa was only then aware of the ring he had marked out in the gravel. He was already standing in the centre of the Celtic knot, the circumference of which was drawn in what looked like pale blue chalk.

"I do hope that's not permanent," Lucius drawled idly, as he too regarded the blot on the courtyard. The Druid's pale eyes flashed in his direction. Lucius met their hostile green depths condescendingly. "Archaic way to travel really," he added contemptuously.

"If it were up to me _you_ would not be travelling anywhere. You have no business at Tintagel."

"Then I am pleased it is not up to you," Lucius replied icily, before he continued with a scathing sneer: "you might be an important little minion in the Druidical world, but this is the real world, and though your particular brand of magic might serve you well, it will not serve nearly well enough to escape from my property should I decide to stop you."

"Are you threatening me, Malfoy?" snarled the Druid.

"Why? Do you feel threatened?" Lucius grinned wickedly.

The young Druid looked ready to erupt. Narcissa took a step forward; she was torn between allowing herself the impolite liberty of laughing or displaying the disapproval that she knew she should express. In the end she decided on neither.

"I think we had better go," she announced calmly.

"Indeed!" They stood within the circle, Narcissa's hand on Draco's shoulder her other arm linked with her husband's. "_Wísdomes wrþu, wítena frofór_," the Druid began to chant, "_wisdoms wrþu, wítena frofór_…"

It wasn't like Apparating, or travelling by floo, or even like using a Portkey. It was a great mist descending upon the mind and then lifting a moment later, only to reveal that things weren't where they should be; weren't _what_ they should be. It was dreamlike, surreal. It was magic, but not the brash sparkling kind. It was old. Tired. It was the undercurrent forever sustaining the land. It had been, and would be. It was Tintagel, it was Stonehenge, it was Avalon, and Camelot, and places just beyond the looking glass. Myth and legend and magic, it was everything that had been forgotten.

**..ooOOoo..**

Draco could smell the sea; the morning air was seasoned with its tang. He could hear the harsh cry of seagulls, and feel fine, dry sand shift beneath his feet. Silvery grey eyes blinked groggily as a hazy cloud lifted from his young eyes. He glanced around quickly, and found that he was standing inside a second blue circle with his parents and the Druid. They were situated on a little bay at the foot of a very imposing cliff.

The pre-dawn bathed everything in a surreal purple glow as Draco, ignoring everything else, scanned the craggy rock face. The iridescent light hit the cliff, picking out jagged points and sinister caves. Apart from the occasional call of the gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves all was eerily silent. There was something strangely uncanny about the place. It was ridiculous, irrational, but Draco could feel a thousand unseen eyes watching him. He was suddenly glad of the warmth of his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"You had best come with me." It was the Druid who broke the strange silence. Draco turned to watch as the man offered his mother his arm as he spoke. "The others will be expecting you."

Narcissa nodded slowly, and freed the hand that had been tucked securely in the crook of her husband's arm. It would be better this way, she reasoned deliberately. She did wonder briefly at Lucius', albeit short-lived, resistance to her effort to free herself; he tightened his grip on her hand for a second, but then seemed to remember himself because he dropped her arm like a leaden weight a moment later.

"Lead the way then," Narcissa simpered mildly, twitching angrily as she watched the Druid flash a smug smile in Lucius' direction as he waited for her to take his arm.

She didn't.

"M'lady?" he said, looking at her questioningly.

"I am capable of walking unaided," she hissed coldly. _Would they never learn? She was no marionette in need of a puppeteer to hold her strings! _Face flushed, heart pounding, Narcissa marched across the pebbly beach to a dry mud path, which was almost hidden amid the gorse-covered scrubland that skirted the base of the cliff. "This way was it?" she sneeringly called across the sand, looking back at her three spectators: the Druid, Lucius and Draco, they were watching her with markedly different expressions: fury, resignation and very mild amusement could be read upon their faces.

The trek up the cliff was arduous. The pathway was steep and uneven, but Narcissa refused to relinquish her lead. She had decided that she was more than strong enough to prove to Lucius that she could handle this alone. Instead of being tired by the climb she could feel the power of the land rejuvenating her weakened spirits. The fresh scent of the gorse and salt blowing up off the surf filled the air: the forgotten fragrance of her childhood.

Narcissa was slightly breathless when she reached the mainland summit, where she paused. The ruins of Tintagel castle were set on a peninsular entirely surrounded by the sea - with the exception of a very narrow causeway that linked it to the mainland. It was here that Narcissa had stopped.

"There are no safety wards," she said softly, once her son, husband and the Druid had caught up with her. "Magic here is… distorted. If you should fall there is little chance of survival."

"How comforting," Lucius remarked wryly, peering languidly over the edge of cliff at the sheer drop below.

Despite her very deliberate show of bravado Narcissa wanted to reach out and pull him back. Her fingers itched to anchor themselves in his robes and drag him away from the cliff edge.

Without warning, Lucius glanced over in her direction, and caught her watching him anxiously. He raised a curious eyebrow, and then, correctly interpreting the concern she could not hide, allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Narcissa flushed, and then bristled indignantly at being caught out in such a manner. She swiftly moved away and struck out across the causeway.

Lucius continued to watch, his face now set grimly, as his wife kept her head up and eyes fixed on the land opposite. The heel of her shoe hit the uneven stone surface causing a little rocky landslide. Lucius' eyes followed the perilous fall of the shale. Instinctual fear flooded his body with adrenaline. If she should fall…

He saw that his son had noticed the little rock slide too, but Draco went after his mother after only a moment's hesitation. Lucius moved to follow his wife and son, but the Druid stepped in front of him and blocked his path.

"You cross last. This is our realm. You have no place here," he announced with great satisfaction.

"And what makes you think _they_ have?" snarled Lucius, nodding in the direction of Narcissa and Draco. He could feel the first real cracks in his composure forming. The Druid smirked.

"You already know the answer to that question." He stepped onto the causeway. The wind, channelled through the chiselled rock, began to howl. The sea was churning and crashing in great foamy waves. "It torments you doesn't it?"

"That is ridiculous," Lucius growled, following the Druid's treacherous path.

"Not really." The Druid murmured, as the two men continued to cross the causeway. "We know a lot about you. We know your ideals. We know how deeply it must pain you to be of such lowly birth in comparison to your son and his mother."

The little chinks threatening Lucius' self-control fractured into full, gaping chasms that ripped his restraint apart. His wand was drawn before he could stop himself. However, the Druid did not turn – did not need to.

"Your particular 'brand of magic' might serve you well, but it will not serve you well enough if you should choose to cross us here," he said in slow, mocking, imitating tones.

Lucius' hands clenched, if the Druids words had not been so painfully true he would have done something, _anything_, but as it was Lucius resheathed his wand, body tense to the point of breaking with the suppressed rage pulsing through his veins. He stormed across the remaining length of the causeway looking absolutely thunderous. Narcissa brushed by Draco and the Druid to greet her husband when he stepped onto the land of Tintagel.

"What did he say?" she demanded anxiously, careful to keep her voice low.

"Nothing of consequence," he snarled.

"Lucius," Narcissa said gently, fearing that he was already beyond the reach of reason. His eyes focused on her face. For a moment his anger seemed to increase, but a second later he appeared frighteningly distant. "Lucius?" she repeated, the smallest note of panic underpinning her voice. Her anxiety seemed to strike some unknown chord with her husband, because Lucius' expression softened a fraction. He relented and her took her arm.

"Where now?" he asked.

His tone remained clipped, but Narcissa was nevertheless grateful to be able to link her arm with her husband's. She gave a weak smile, which Lucius did not return.

"This way I think," Narcissa sighed, lowering her eyes from Lucius' gaze but nodding in the direction of one of the grass-covered paths that criss-crossed the ruins.

"Correct," the Druid supplied curtly. He had taken up a position between Draco and his parents.

Narcissa watched her son shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as he seemed to deliberate edging passed the man to rejoin her and his father. Pulling Lucius with her, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She moved forward and caught Draco by the shoulder. Her son started somewhat in surprise, but allowed himself to be ushered along the path by his mother.

Nestled between her husband on one side, and her son on the other, Narcissa was suddenly struck by the fact that she had scarcely ever felt so safe, so protected. She sighed inwardly and tried to remind herself that she did not want to feel protected. She could cope on her own.

They walked like this for a short while, following the Druid who had pushed ahead, climbing a gentle slope that wound its way through the crumbling ruins until it emerged in a little grassy courtyard full of people. At least two-dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare in the direction of the Malfoy family. They bore this scrutiny for a moment without faltering, but then a few notable inclusions among the party were observed...

Narcissa first noted Isabelle standing beside her father. A bile-like rage flooded her senses. She struggled to fight against this torrent of wrathful abhorrence lest she allowed herself to be overcome by her hatred of the woman. Her father's presence she could accept, but Isabelle's felt like a deliberate insult. All the same, her old rival was not going to have the pleasure of seeing her lose her temper today! Drawing a deep breath she tried to continue towards the gathering, only to find that Lucius had stopped. She turned her head and blinked up at him enquiringly, stunned by the look of absolute disgust that was etched upon his face.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Lucius demanded viciously.

Narcissa frowned warily, still studying his face. She considered asking whom he meant, but judged it safer to follow his gaze and scan the crowd herself. A sharp gasp lodged itself in her throat; her question had just been rendered redundant. Albus Dumbledore was standing a little to the left of the group of mourners. He was watching the three of them closely, looking terribly severe. Narcissa waited apprehensively for Lucius to announce that he was leaving, for him to turn around and walk away, to prove to her that, when put to the test, his self-sacrificial promises were as hollow as she had always feared.

"Well?" Lucius snapped, when Narcissa didn't answer his question.

"The Druids think very highly of Dumbledore," she said softly, sadly. "I suppose they must have invited him."

"And you didn't feel like warning us?" he asked accusingly. Still standing beside his mother Draco was looking increasingly uneasy.

"I didn't know!"

"Perfect, just perfect," Lucius snarled, as he gripped Narcissa's wrist and stalked toward the mourners.

"You're… staying?" she stammered difficultly.

"Don't try my patience just now, Narcissa," he growled, but somehow his anger seemed not to matter to his wife. He wasn't going anywhere - he wasn't leaving her. Narcissa very nearly smiled, despite the impropriety of the action, but then she caught her father's eye and was robbed of all sense of well-being. He was scowling at her with such a look of dripping loathing that she felt like a girl of fourteen again instead of the woman of thirty-four that she was. She took a guilty step nearer to as their guide led them on and fought the urge to grip Draco's hand as their guide led them on.

"My lady Narcissa."

The old druid who had come to the Manor two days beforehand stepped forward and bowed as they approached. His sharp eyes watched closely as Lucius lifted his eyes skyward and tried not to lose his temper.

"We meet again, Draco," he added slowly, turning to the boy, "and- _Lucius_ it has been many years since we last saw you." Lucius opened his mouth to snarl a retort, but the aged man continued: "it is almost dawn. We should begin."

The cluster of people moved to follow the Druid leader, but he stopped them and then with his staff indicated that they should form a circle. Draco glanced at his parents curiously, but neither offered an explanation. Narcissa sole aim was to stand as far away from her father and Isabelle as possible. In effect this would mean that they would be standing directly opposite one another once the circle had been formed. She endeavoured to execute this plan as innocently as possible, Lucius and Draco still flanking her on either side.

"_Ís byþ oferceald_," chanted the old Druid without forewarning.

The other grey-clad figures joined this call a moment later, until it echoed around the shadowy cliffs in an eerie chorus. Narcissa's eyes widened apprehensively she felt the strangest prickling sensation filling her body. Magic. Old magic. She shifted uncomfortably, she did not want to know what was coming next, but she could already guess.

A misty haze filled the centre of the circle. Narcissa wanted to shut her eyes, block out what was happening, but she was compelled to keep them open as the druidical chant resounded around the ruin. Narcissa was curiously grateful that Lucius' hand was resting on the small of her back… but she was not going to reach for him. She wasn't. Even when the fog cleared, even when she saw what the mist was concealing… her mother's pyre.

Narcissa looked from her mother's body to her father and felt her throat begin to tighten. One day this was going to happen to her she realised. One day she was going to lose Lucius. Forever. She drew a shuddering breath and tried to focus in the old Druid's words, but all she could think about was a distant funeral. A different time, a different place, in which it was she who was losing her spouse.

Narcissa blinked, a wet trickle of tears coated her cheeks. She did not raise her hand to wipe them dry, instead she reached out for Lucius. Her fingers intertwined with his own; she could deny herself no longer. From the corner of her eye she watched him turn to her in surprise, she waited, but he did not withdraw the hand that she had claimed.

Instead he observed the proud upward tilt of her chin, so at odds with the glassy vulnerability of her eyes. In all honesty Lucius was amazed to feel her hand nestled beneath his, her fingers laced with his own, but he tightened his grip a fraction as he drew his eyes away from her face. His wintry gaze scanned the crowd - the Druids' contempt, Adrian's hatred, Isabelle's obsession, what had Narcissa done to him that he was willing to endure all of that for her?

**OOoo..ooOO**

Lucius drew a deep breath, and tried very hard to ignore the soft warmth of the body pressed against his own. He wanted her again. The realisation of this fact was crushing. One night, he had promised himself one night in her arms, one night to taste her, test her, take her, after which he would give her up. His eyes raked over the sleeping face of the beautiful young woman lying beside him. How could he possibly give her up? Was he now supposed to stand back and watch her father toy with her, watch as an imbecile like Crouch seduced her, married her, stole away what he had claimed as his own?

_Enough_. Lucius tried to temper his intense agitation; whatever he told himself Narcissa was not his, there were obstacles he could not ignore - Isabelle for a start. His eyes narrowed. He brushed the lightest of kisses against Narcissa's temple. She stirred slightly in her sleep, and softly sighed his name. _His name._ It had the strangest effect on Lucius, for a moment he was filled with such acute pain that he could not move, and when it passed he was left with such an unbearable feeling of emptiness that he leant forwards and, before he could curb the words, whispered into her ear:

"I will find a way to make you mine."

What sounded like the nearby click of a door being snapped shut, followed directly by footsteps in the hall, brought Lucius' mind crashing back from its reverie; whispered promises were so easily broken…

He rolled over, untangling his body from Narcissa's, and stared distractedly at his bedroom door. Distant sounds of slamming and shouting were seeping through the Manor in noxious waves. Something was wrong. But what? A fierce rush of adrenaline flooded Lucius' veins as all manner of worse case scenarios flitted through his mind in answer to this unspoken question.

He left Narcissa in his bed and grabbed his trousers, shirt and wand. Shrugging on his clothes Lucius wondered if he should wake her, but he had brought Narcissa to the Manor to keep her safe. He was not about to fail in that aspiration. If something from the previous day had not been taken care of, as was Lucius' greatest fear, he would find a way to deal with it. He glanced again at Narcissa's still sleeping form… and suddenly he knew… he would protect her whatever the cost.

It was a severe blow, an epiphany, and he fought it hard. _Why? Why help her?_ Hissed a little voiced that Lucius could not ignore. He was a Malfoy. He was not supposed to care for anyone. He was in trouble. He was falling too deep.

Fighting to steel himself against her, in a manner that he had never had to fortify himself against anyone before, Lucius left the bedroom. He cooled his gaze and righted his stance. Clothed decently, if not impeccably, he made his way in the direction that he had heard the commotion.

It had taken him a few moments to dress and now there was only heavy silence permeating the Manor. Growing more confused, and consequently rather annoyed, Lucius wandered into the dining room, where his father was sat calmly eating breakfast. Lucius lingered in the doorway, eyes narrowed in sudden instinctive suspicion.

"Lover's tiff?" Cassius drawled smugly from behind the pages of the Daily Prophet. He didn't glance up after his cryptic comment to see his son's face darken, but when Lucius demonstrated no desire to speak the paper was unhurriedly laid aside. "I take it that is why Miss Zabini was in such a fine rage when I saw her a moment ago?" Cassius enquired slyly. He folded the newspaper in half and looked up smugly at his son.

"Isabelle was here?" Lucius hissed, his lips thinning.

"Didn't you know?" Cassius asked innocently, "I sent her up to see you." He watched with some satisfaction as his son's lip curled in disgust.

"That was childish," Lucius drawled. His expression had suddenly become utterly unreadable, but behind this blank façade his mind was racing… because, if Isabelle knew about Narcissa… "You have brought things rather nicely to a head though, father" he smirked wickedly.

"What?" Cassius snapped. "What are you talking about? Miss Zabini is practically your fiancée. You are going to go after her, although first it might be wise to deal with Miss Varvara, _permanently_. Isabelle is no fool. She won't refuse you after a triviality like this-"

"Oh I think I could persuade her to," Lucius interrupted silkily.

"Lucius!" Cassius roared, getting to his feet. "This ends here! Isabelle expects a proposal. The Zabini's expect you to make a proposal. The whole of wizarding society is expecting the two of you to marry!"

"All excellent reasons not to embark on such a foolish venture I would have thought," Lucius sneered dryly.

"Don't be smart, boy. You've had your fun, but if you want to have you cake _and_ eat it you'll have to learn to be subtler. Isabelle has the sense to ignore a discreet liaison or two, but throwing it in her face like this-" Cassius tutted, "it's just bad form Lucius. You can't expect her to simply tolerate such an insult."

"Well perhaps stringing Isabelle along is an insult to Narcissa?" Lucius smirked complacently. Cassius went very still.

"I will say again, Lucius, _you have had you fun_, but you cannot honestly expect me to believe it's any more than that can you?" he demanded. "The Varvara's are not our equals, her mother is an embarrassment, her father is a disgrace, and she - she is trouble, Lucius."

"Undoubtedly," Lucius replied offhand, his lips curving into a distracted smile.

"Well fine," Cassius sighed, misunderstanding, "if that's her only attraction. In that case, do what you will with Miss Zabini. No doubt things can be smoothed over if you really have set your mind against marrying her. I was worried you had it in your head to wed the Varvara girl," he snorted at the absurdity of the idea. "Keep her somewhere discreet until you tire of her and we'll say no more about it." He relaxed back in his chair and picked up the paper again, thinking that the whole matter was settled. "You may find her a suitable mistress, but she will _never_ make a suitable wife for any man of means," he couldn't stop himself from adding.

The temperature in the dinning room dropped noticeably, and whatever else Cassius Malfoy had been about to say froze on his lips. Lucius, unshaven and dressed in rather crumpled clothes, was still managing to exude an aura of deadly power.

Cassius's coffee mug cracked.

"Be careful, father," Lucius hissed blackly, before turning and stalking out of the room.

Anger pulsing through his veins, he stormed through the downstairs corridors of Manor towards the entrance hall and the main staircase. The unlit candles in the ornate candelabra were spontaneously bursting into flame as he passed them by, but he paid them no heed. He needed to calm down before rejoining Narcissa, needed to extinguish the fire licking at his blood. He couldn't quite understand its source…

The Varvara's were purebloods after all, true, they were not part of the wizarding nobility, but they were certainly part of the gentry, and if the rumours were to be believed, her mother's bloodline could put even the highest families to shame! His father's bigoted attack was all he could concentrate on … until he marched into the entrance hall and found Isabelle being shown back into the house by one of the house elves.

Her eyes focused on him immediately. Lucius was momentarily pleased that Isabelle was not a better witch. He may have actually feared for his life had he thought she knew the proper spells. She swept passed the elf, sending the creature flying, and rounded on Lucius.

"I have decided," she announced, in a tone of voice that suggested she had determined something of global significance, "that I am prepared to forgive this pathetic little dalliance of yours Lucius, provided that you now adhere to a number of nonnegotiable conditions." Lucius raised one cool eyebrow, admittedly rather taken aback, and remained absolutely silent. Isabelle continued:

"Firstly, you are to get rid of the little whore currently curled up asleep in our bed! Secondly, you are to dissuade her of the ludicrous notion that she means anything to you, thirdly, you are not to see her again," Isabelle spat. Each word was loaded with venom and she was counting these conditions off on her fingers. Not a muscle moved in Lucius' face, but his fingers were twitching dangerously. "And last, but certainly not least, you are to publicly announce our engagement," she finished tenaciously.

A cold, callous grimace lifted Lucius' mouth into an insulting smile.

"As tempting an offer as that sounds, Isabelle, I'm afraid I will have to decline."

"What?" she hissed, eyes glittering feverishly. She took a step forward and jabbed a finger violently against his chest. "I don't think you quite appreciate the precariousness of your position, Lucius! I was trying to be lenient!" she cried, her voice steadily increasing in volume. "I was trying to understand this perverse little fetish you seem to have for young girls!"

"She's nineteen," he supplied coolly.

"She's a child!" Isabelle spat.

"No," Lucius smirked unashamedly, "she is most definitely a woman."

"You unfaithful bastard!" Isabelle swore raising her hand to strike him across the face.

Lucius had been expecting the slap, but he did nothing to prevent it, and so, the stinging smack of skin hitting skin filled the entrance hall. He absorbed the blow quite indifferently. His head flinched only a fraction to the side under the force of Isabelle's hand. He corrected his posture deliberately slowly, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes, stubbornly resisting the urge to raise a hand to his throbbing cheek and absolutely refusing to give her the pleasure of provoking an outburst of rage. Looking calmly dignified, Lucius simply kept his eyes focused on the beautiful witch before him and wondered if she would break. Isabelle did not look like a woman who had just gained a sliver of satisfaction. She seemed like a woman on the edge. Lucius waited to see whether or not she would strike again; she looked ready to claw his eyes out.

"Feeling better now?" he smirked sardonically, once he had grown tired of watching her clenching, unclenching and reclenching her manicured hands.

"It'll take a lot more than that to make me feel better!" she hissed furiously.

"Pity," Lucius drawled dryly, "because that is all I'm willing to give you."

Isabelle stared up at him, momentarily dumbfounded by his insultingly flippant manner. He watched as she tried to gather her wits and think of a retort.

"Lucius, if you don't at least have the common decency to say that you're sorry we're through!" she exclaimed at length. He smiled: a slow predatory smile that made all of the colour seep from Isabelle's face.

"The only problem being that I'm not sorry in the least," Lucius breathed softly, "if anything, I'm glad, which would seem to suggest that you may have precisely the right idea."

"W-what?" Isabelle stammered. She now looked deathly pale. The ghostly hue of her cheeks was all the more evident given the contrast between her skin and the glossy jet locks that framed her face.

"I believe your oh-so-elegant phrasing was 'we're through'," Lucius smirked cruelly. Isabelle stared at him, chest heaving with breathless gasps as her whole body began to shake.

"You're choosing _her_ over me?" she shrieked at last, in complete and utter disbelief.

"Yes, that does appear to be what's happening," Lucius agreed silkily.

"But she's-she's-" Isabelle flailed and failed to find a description vile enough for her taste.

"Indescribable, I agree," Lucius murmured softly, almost distractedly.

"Lucius, you-you cannot be serious!" Isabelle trilled, nearing hysterics. "What about me? What about us?"

He shot her quelling glance, and absentmindedly wondered if Narcissa was given to these self-indulgent little tantrums that all the other women he knew seemed to suffer. He hoped not, he _thought_ not. She seemed far too guarded, far too shrewd. He frowned mildly; did she wear a mask for him too? He would have to find out.

"Come now, Isabelle," he said, reluctantly pushing his thoughts of Narcissa aside. "I'm sure you can concoct any number of elaborate plans to trap yourself another rich man."

"I don't want another rich man. I want _you_. I love _you_," she stated emphatically, stamping her foot and provoking Lucius to roll his eyes, and quip drolly:

"That is unfortunate, but I'm sure it will pass."

"Lucius be serious! What are you trying to achieve? You cannot mean to marry this girl!"

"Can I not?" he smiled slowly. "So I keep being told, but I am not so set against the idea myself." Isabelle looked positively aghast, but then tried to rally.

"She only wants you for your money."

"Speaking from experience are we?" he enquired idly.

"The Zabinis have wealth of their own," she sneered. "As you well know. _Our_ union would at least be mutually beneficial." However, Lucius' amused laugh only further reinforced the fact that she was losing ground fast - he watched this realisation flicker across her face. "It won't last," she said desperately, clutching at any means to hurt him. "Once you find out what she's really like."

"I think I've seen a few glimpses of what she's really like," Lucius murmured reflectively.

He had. He was sure he had: outside Hogwarts the evening after she had won the Decaduel… facing her father at Cotehele… the night before, when he had held her in his arms... There were faults in her little masquerade. He just needed to work out exactly how to see through them.

"I think she's far more intriguing than she pretends to be," Lucius sighed deeply.

"You'll regret it." Isabelle fumed. "If you go through with this you'll regret it for the rest of your life." She paused. "After the way you've treated me, I'll make sure that you do!"

Lucius' whole persona altered very slightly. The derisive amusement that he had been drawing on to stem his anger evaporated.

"Think very carefully before crossing me," he warned Isabelle darkly. She failed to notice the change in him and simply continued to glare contemptuously.

"You crossed me first! You'll see," she snorted, "you'll come crawling back when you get bored of the common little slut upstairs, we'll see who-"

Isabelle broke off abruptly when a vice-like hand was clamped around her upper arm. She gasped and looked up into Lucius' face quickly. Her pale cheeks greyed. He had never let her see him angry before, not really, truly, _seething_; she had never had the power to evoke that strong an emotion.

"Lucius!" she squeaked fearfully as he marched her across the hall towards the front doors. He snapped the fingers of his free hand and the heavy wooden doors crashed open. "Lucius?"

He ignored her whimpering cries and thrust her out through the doorway. Isabelle turned, looking as though she wanted to burst into tears in the face of this callous manhandling, as if this was the only weapon she had left, but one glimpse of the storm raging in the depths of his eyes was enough to keep her silent.

"Goodbye Isabelle."

Lucius heard his own voice, as if from a great distance, as if he was only a spectator in this sphere of his life. Detached from the scene he was struck by the utterly cold, icy tone of his voice; surely it should have better reflected the molten anger coursing through his veins, the passionate hatred he could feel stirring in Narcissa's defence?

Isabelle simply stared up at him, her pretty pouting mouth slightly open. She remained caught in a numb haze of disbelief and stammered his name once again in question.

He looked back at her for a moment, lips twisting when he realised that he was looking into the face of the beautiful society lady whom so many had believed would be the next Mrs Malfoy. His stomach turned at the mere thought. When he compared the witch before him to the women tangled up in his sheets upstairs, a woman marked so intimately by his possession, he knew that he was right. There was no logic behind this dawning of realisation. Lucius simply felt it, down to the very marrow of his bones.

"Goodbye Isabelle." This time when he spoke the dripping sneer of contempt had returned to his voice. "If I were you, I would hope that we do not meet again soon."

He turned from the door, withdrawing inside the Manor. Isabelle moved to follow, still spluttering indignantly. Lucius could hear her heeled shoes hitting the stone steps. He smirked cruelly as he then heard the creak of hinges as the front doors of the Manor shut themselves, blocking out Isabelle's muffed scream of protest.

Lucius breathed out deeply, and felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders as he turned impatiently towards the staircase. Narcissa. He felt a sudden rush. What was there to stand in his way now? What was left to prevent him claiming her as his own for all the world to see? Provided of course, that she would have him… He frowned mildly at this uncharacteristic note of self-doubt, and was interrupted before he could brush this uncertainty aside.

"Lucius!" His foot was on the second step when his father's voice broke through his musing. "There's an Auror from the Ministry here to see you. Just arrived by floo."

"Not now," Lucius growled, turning to face his father and a second wizard who was standing just behind Cassius. He was slightly taller than his host, and rather thin. His dark hair was already starting to whiten despite the fact he was not a particularly old man.

"Yes now, sir," he inserted hesitantly, glancing uneasily in Cassius Malfoy's direction before added in a hushed whisper, "it's about last night."

Cassius gave a disgruntled snort and shook his head in disgust. Without actually saying another word he made his disapproval known, turning and leaving his son and his visitor without even bothering to excuse himself.

"Igor," Lucius drawled, checking himself. He forced his body to still when every nerve was straining in desperation to return to his young lover. "I thought I told you not to come here?" he hissed, but only once his father had disappeared from view.

"_He_ sent me." Lucius couldn't help but tensed slightly. "He told me to give you this." The Auror, Igor Karkaroff added, pulling a black letter from beneath the folds of his robes. Lucius swore beneath his breath and accepted, but did not open, the letter. "He's not happy about what happened yesterday."

"Yesterday's disaster was hardly my fault," Lucius growled. Karkaroff shrugged, in a manner that seemed to suggest the particulars of the previous day were of very little interest to him.

"How's the girl?"

"She's fine," Lucius supplied slowly. Did Narcissa have a letter too? Was she in trouble, in danger? He mentally rebuked himself; for a man who had never cared a jot for anyone before he was certainly making up for lost time with Narcissa! "Do you have a little black note for her as well?" he drawled, in what he hoped were disinterested tones.

"No." Karkaroff glanced at his watch restlessly. "I only have two letters to deliver."

"Two?" he repeated, frowning.

Karkaroff simply nodded.

Lucius assumed the other was for Lestrange, but why then had Narcissa and Snape escaped a summons, a punishment – he assumed one of the two would be contained within the sealed black parchment – and why on earth did he feel a twinge of relief that Narcissa had escaped an encounter with the Dark Lord when he himself had to suffer one?

"Was that all?" he snapped, ultimately unable to contain his impatience to return to his room, to return to Narcissa and tell her – what exactly? He wasn't sure, but he knew enough to know that he wanted to impress upon her how right, how natural, it felt for her to be an integral part of his life.

"That's all," Igor nodded again. "For now at any rate," he added, with an insipid little smile that drew attention to his rather weak chin.

"One of the elves will show you back to the floo," Lucius called over his shoulder, already mounting the stairs, his visitors forgotten in an instant.

His room was not far, and his steps were hurried. The Dark Lord's letter was still in his hand, unopened, forgotten; Lucius was only conscious of the beating of his heart, the pounding of his blood, the absolute necessity of being in Narcissa's presence again.

He pushed open the door to his room without pausing. His mind had already created a list of what he might find: Narcissa still peacefully asleep, exactly as he had left her, or perhaps she would be just stirring, but still curled upon the bed waiting for his return? In a spilt second he decided both might be overly optimistic. She would probably be wide-awake, dressed no doubt, wondering where he had been and why he had left her.

His feet stopped, his _heart_ stopped; Lucius did not find Narcissa waiting for the answers he was ready and willing to give.

He found nothing.

She was gone.

**OOoo..ooOO**

Lucius attempted to dismiss the memory, but he could not quite forget the gut wrenching sense of loss and devastation that he had felt on finding his chamber empty. He fought against the urge to tighten his grip on Narcissa's hand, to assure himself that although he had lost her once he had found and reclaimed her. He steeled himself, and forced his mind to try and concentrate on what the Druid was saying about his late mother-in-law.

"Ís byþ oferceald, ungemetum slidor. Glisnaþ glæshlútor, gimmum gelícost, flór forste geworuht, fæger ansíene."

Lucius sighed irritably on realising that that the rites were being given in Anglo-Saxon, and consequently that following them was near impossible. He bowed his head and allowed his mind to clear, but not to wander, while his restless digits moved distractedly over the glistening platinum band that circled his wife's forth finger.

Narcissa had been caught up in following the complexities of the Druid's voice and had nearly forgotten that her hand was entwined snugly with her husband's, so she frowned a little when she noted the caress of soft leather whispering against her skin. She glanced at Lucius out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he was thinking about. He certainly did not seem focused on the present moment.

Distracted by her husband's touch Narcissa allowed her mind to drift away from the Druid's words as her eyes scanned the assembly. Most faces were bowed, Dumbledore's eyes were reverently closed, his head occasionally nodding in agreement with the rites, even her father was staring fixedly at Elaine. Narcissa could not quite determine the expression in his eyes. However, there was one other face, apart from Narcissa's own, which was not focused on the Druid giving the rites, nor on her mother's finally peaceful form.

Isabelle was staring at Lucius. Narcissa suppressed a shiver, and in turn kept her eyes locked on her husband's old lover. She was tired of feeling threatened by the black-haired beauty. _She_ was Lucius' wife, she had borne his son - she had stood the test of time. It was still her company that Lucius sought, still her counsel that he heeded, still her arms that he returned to every night. And yet, Narcissa frowned… he had never really been tested before, had he?

Isabelle apparently felt Narcissa's gaze resting upon her, because her eyes suddenly shifted to meet those of Mrs Malfoy. They stared at each other over Elaine's bier. Isabelle's face contorted in a sneer. Narcissa could clearly read the hatred, the danger, flashing in her eyes. She kept her own face passive, blank, until the whisper of Lucius' fingertips against her skin lifted her lips in a small, smug smile.

So, Narcissa reasoned, Isabelle wanted Lucius, but Lucius, whether he admitted it or not, felt it or not, was bound to her. Narcissa had known it, felt it, for as long as she could remember. She had fought for Lucius before and won. She had not quite known if she was willing to fight Isabelle again, but the occurrences of the past few days had reminded Narcissa of something that she had learnt many, many years previously, something she had never forgotten, but something she kept locked away and hidden… a truth too dangerous to dwell upon.

She took a deep breath and let her eyes flutter shut. It would not do to indulge in that memory. It was enough that she had felt its shadow pass over. Besides, the Druid had stopped speaking and people were beginning to drift away.

Narcissa knew that _she_ could not yet leave… but she could snatch a few moments peace with any hope. Still, she made no motion to move. Instead her eyes opened and rested upon her mother's lifeless form. Her head felt strangely empty, abnormally clear. She was detached from her surroundings; there was a buzz around her, a hive of activity of which she was not a part. She was a spectator watching a play, but then the pressure of Lucius' hand turned and jolted her back to reality.

"Now what?" he breathed, his voice low.

"Now we wait," Narcissa sighed. "Or rather _I _wait," she murmured, reluctantly pulling her hand out of Lucius' grasp, noting that Draco had wandered off to speak to a couple of boys about his age – distant cousins from her mother's father's side of the family she presumed.

"For what?" Lucius snapped. His face was set, but Narcissa was not afforded the opportunity to reply. One of the Druids had moved to join them.

"M'lady, we will be ready for you shortly." He said with a quick bow, before scurrying immediately away to speak with Albus Dumbledore.

"Narcissa?" Lucius growled, but his wife was moving away from him.

"They'll need me to go down into the caverns," she said, praying her voice was steady as she glanced back over her shoulder. Lucius' eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Alone?"

"I _can_ manage, Lucius," she said sharply. "I am not quite as helpless as you seem to believe all of a sudden!" she snapped, eyes flashing as she stormed away from him. Her husband paused momentarily, unable to explain this sudden surge of hostility.

"I don't think you're helpless, Narcissa," he growled, going after her. "I think-"

"Lucius!"

A shrill woman's voice rang out and curdled Narcissa's blood, turning so fast that Lucius almost careened into her she stopped and glared past him at Isabelle. The beautiful witch was walking towards them - a picture-perfect smile sculpting her lips. Narcissa drew a shakily breath, expelling it in a furious hiss.

"I don't believe this!" she spat. "Lucius just-" she had to break off to compose herself, and then said simply: "I will not suffer her today." Narcissa turned away from her husband again and marched off at a furious pace. Stunned into immobility, Isabelle was at Lucius' side before he had a chance to go after his wife.

"Curious service, didn't you think, Lucius?" Isabelle simpered with a dazzling smile. Lucius blinked and willed himself to look away from the retreating figure of his wife. He murmured something indistinct. "Narcissa seems rather upset," she remarked, her voice so neutral that it was suspicious.

"Her mother is dead," Lucius hissed.

"Well yes, but I didn't think they were all that close?" Isabelle probed. Lucius sneered; he was not going to have this conversation with Isabelle Zabini!

"Why are you here?" he asked at length, eyes narrowing sceptically. "You never believed in any of this."

"People change," she smiled. Lucius gave a snort of disbelief. "And well, I did hear some very interesting stories from the late Mrs Varvara. I wanted to come and see things for myself."

Lucius stared at her distrustfully for a moment. His instincts were usually superb, so he was loathed to ignore the little red warning lights flashing inside his head.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing Isabelle, but I do know that you need to stop," he said slowly.

"And why is that, Lucius dear?" Isabelle smiled sweetly, reaching out and trailing a hand down the length of his lapel. A gloved fist was clamped roughly around her wrist as Lucius jerked her wandering fingertips away from his body.

"Because, if you recall, you do not like me when I'm angry, and you are dangerously close to making me _very_ angry," he growled furiously. Isabelle paled, fluttered her eyelashes nervously and quickly snatched her arm out of his grasp. She opened her pretty ruby lips to speak, but Lucius cut her off. "Excuse me," he sneered, "I need to find my wife."

**..ooOOoo..**

Narcissa was standing at the very edge of the shoreline, just where the waves lapped at the sand, close enough to feel the spray of the surf. She could sense her husband's silent approach without having to look around and see him. Even if her senses had not been heightened she knew she would have felt him. In just the same way that she always knew where her limbs were, even when she closed her eyes - he was an extension of herself. She already regretted snapping at him, pushing him away and leaving him with Isabelle.

Lucius crossed almost the full length of the beach before he stopped. He stood a foot behind his wife, waiting for her to turn – while she stood a little ahead, waiting for him to speak. Neither complied with the other's unspoken request.

"I miss this," Narcissa sighed at length, gazing out at the ocean. Dawn had broken during the rites. Sunlight hit the water and sparkled like jewels. Lucius moved forward until he was by his wife's side, a mild frown resting on his brow.

"The sea?"

"Yes," Narcissa said slowly, _and no, _it was not just the sea, it was the feel of the place: the sense of being so small in the face of something so vast, the sense of being so helpless in the face of something so powerful.

Narcissa wondered if she should feel afraid; she didn't, she felt incredibly peaceful. Standing there, looking out into endless blue, was like looking on immortality.

"I-" Narcissa began then faltered.

She felt Lucius turn to look at her closely.

"You?" he prompted, when she made no motion to continue.

"I think my mother brought me to this beach once," she murmured softly.

Lucius suppressed a groan. He doubted very much that he was the right person for Narcissa to be having this conversation with; he had no desire to start reminiscing about Elaine Varvara! But… whom else could Narcissa speak to? Who else would he want her to pour her heart out to? _No one. _He answered his own silent question forcefully.

"Go on?" he drawled, and although his voice was hardly encouraging, it was not entirely without warmth. Narcissa tugged her gaze away from the rolling waves to look up into her husband's face. She studied him carefully for a moment before speaking.

"But I don't know if she really did. If it's a memory or just a dream."

"Which would you prefer?" he asked carefully. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head sharply.

"A dream," she hissed. "That would be the easiest; then I could keep hating her. Absolutely."

"Hating someone takes a lot of energy, Narcissa," Lucius said gently, raising a hand to catch her chin, tilting it so that her eyes were forced to meet his, "let it go."

Elaine should not have been able to hurt Narcissa any longer, but Lucius could not quite trust this reasoning. In theory, she should have lost the power to hurt her daughter long ago, ever since Narcissa had become his wife. He had been forced to watch helplessly as that was proven to be untrue. He released his breath in an angry hiss. "Why do you let them do this to you?" he demanded, his voice suddenly harsh.

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked warily.

"Your parents. Why do you care what they once did, said, why do you let them wield this power over you?"

"I don't!" Narcissa snapped turning away abruptly. "I don't care anything about them!"

"You do!" Lucius snarled reaching after her and pulling her to stop as he spun her around to face him. "Why?"

She looked up into his face. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of anger and sorrow. How could she answer that? They were her parents, she wanted to cry at him, they were supposed to protect her, cherish her… love her. Love her. They didn't, hadn't - no one ever had, no one ever would.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered bleakly, bowing her head, and then trying, but failing, to escape him.

"You say that too often," Lucius sighed, pulling her suddenly into his arms, before brushing a light kiss atop the crown of her head. "I _cannot stand_ to see how much they hurt you!" He suddenly growled against her hair.

Narcissa heard herself gasp, it was the only reaction she was capable of; what did he mean? What was he saying? That _he_ cared for her? That seemed implicit in his declaration, but what if she was misunderstanding? Could she take that risk? She stared wide-eyed at Lucius' chest and tried desperately to think of something to say. Words had rarely ever failed her before, so why now when she needed them were they so elusive?

"Lucius," she began breathlessly, but never got to finish, because a sudden shout interrupted her.

"My lady?" A druidical voice called across the sand. Narcissa felt Lucius go ridged, and could have wept for the moment she had just let pass. "It is time."

**- **


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Fear & Fury

**Tainted Love**

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Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi. **Ratings change – this fanfic is now classified R.**

Acknowledgements(s): Kirixchi, for writing the first half of the flashback and then allowing me to Aulizia-ify it, and for distilling the punch into some incredibly apt lines. ;c)

IMPORTANT A/N: Due to 's clampdown on incorrectly classified fanfics I have decided to err on the side of caution and increase TL's rating, given its adult themes and very occasionally profane language it's now rated R.

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**Tainted Love**

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**Chapter Nineteen: Fear & Fury**

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Draco sat down on a granite boulder and stared out over the edge of the cliff. He was alone. Almost everyone else had left Tintagel. His distant cousins had gone, along with their parents and most of the other adults who had attended his grandmother's funeral. There were a few Druids still wandering around; Draco kept catching glimpses of them gliding among the ruins, but no one was paying him any attention.

He kicked at the mossy ground with the heel of his shoe. He didn't know where his parents were. Draco supposed that he could ask one of the lingering Druids. He got the uncanny impression that any one of them would be able to tell him exactly where his mother or father was, but for some unknown reason he was reluctant to do so. With a heavy sigh, he picked absently at the lichen growing on the rock beneath him and wondered what to do.

"Draco."

The teenage wizard tensed as someone behind him quietly uttered his name. The speaker had a cold, eerie, voice. His father's voice was often icy, but never… hollow. It was always imbued with substance and the faint possibility of a thaw, and this voice was not. Draco turned around reluctantly, to find that he was staring up into the face of his grandfather. He gulped uneasily; he didn't think that he had ever had to encounter his mother's father on his own before.

"I'm sorry she died," Draco blurted, when the silence lingered and he could think of nothing else to say. Adrian Varvara's face momentarily contorted in an ugly sneer.

"Don't be," he growled. "Death was a release."

Draco's grey eyes narrowed a fraction. That was a very strange thing to say, he reasoned slowly. His brow knotted in a frown as he stared up at his grandfather, trying very hard to unravel a little of the mystery surrounding the old man. He was desperate to know what his grandfather had done to earn his parents contempt.

"You look like your father when you make that face," Mr Varvara snorted disdainfully, strolling closer to where his grandson was sat. Draco got nervously to his feet as his grandfather's dark eyes bore into him. "I suppose you hear that you take after him quite often?"

"Sometimes."

Mr Varvara shook his head firmly. "You don't."

"Don't what?" Draco exclaimed with a start. His stomach began to twist. Hadn't he already guessed that he was a disappointment to his parents? Didn't he already know he would never live up to the impossibly high standards his father had set for him to follow?

"Don't take after your father," Mr Varvara clarified, "you may look like him, but that is not the same thing. Narcissa looks very much like her late mother, and yet there could not have been two women who were more different." He glanced down at his hands broodingly, and then his gaze returned to Draco. "I am not saying this to hurt you," Mr Varvara supplied smoothly. "I am saying it because you need to hear the truth. You are only _half_ Malfoy. Just as all of this," he waved his hand around at Tintagel in a condescending manner, "is only half of who your mother is - she is more Varvara than she is willing to admit, as, much more importantly, are you."

"I don't know anything about the Varvaras," Draco argued quickly.

"Would you like to?" Adrian asked silkily.

"I don't-" Draco began, he had been about to say: _I don't think my father would approve of that_, but abruptly broke off. Why shouldn't he know about the Varvaras? He was sick and tired of his parents constantly keeping him in the dark! "I don't know," he corrected himself carefully. "What is there to know?"

"Oh a fair amount," Mr Varvara supplied lazily. "My own father, for a start, was a world famous racing broom designer." Draco's interest was piqued. He wondered if this had anything to do with his mother's dislike of Quidditch? "But I'm sure you knew that?" Adrian added slyly, watching as Draco shifted uneasily.

"Of course," he lied. Mr Varvara smiled shrewdly.

"And me? What have you heard about your old grandfather?" he pressed, lifting his eyes skyward so his grandson could not read the malice glittering in their depths.

Once again, Draco shifted uncomfortably; his grandfather was the only Varvara he had ever really heard his parents discuss, and never in very favourable terms.

Adrian chuckled darkly. "You needn't try to be diplomatic on my account. I am well aware your father dislikes me." He gave a deliberately indifferent shrug. "I only ever wanted the best for my little girl." He forced a heavy sigh. "No man was good enough for my daughter, not even the Malfoy heir. I am sorry to say that your father has never forgiven me for that."

"Dad can hold grudges," Draco conceded reluctantly, speaking slowly as if he was rather reluctant to do so.

"Well, that is not so much what pains me," Mr Varvara sighed again, suppressing a sneering quirk of his lips. "I only wish he had not taken his anger out on Narcissa." He watched his grandson's reaction very closely.

"What?" Draco started, and his eyes widened in troubled surprise.

"He refused to allow her to visit her mother and I at Cotehele, and Narcissa did so love Cotehele." His eyes glinted. "It was her sanctuary."

"Curious," a new voice interrupted softly, "I always considered Narcissa Varvara to have spirit enough to match any Malfoy man, even at the tender age of seventeen." Adrian turned on his heel, followed closely by his grandson. "I have never heard or seen anything to alter my initial opinion."

"Dumbledore," Mr Varvara spat.

"Draco, I believe your father is looking for you," Albus Dumbledore announced quite amiably. "I suggest you go and find him."

Draco could only stare opened mouthed at his headmaster. "Where is-" he began uncertainly, but his grandfather interrupted.

"_I _will help Draco find my son-in-law," Adrian snarled.

"How good of you, Mr Varvara." Dumbledore smiled. His blue eyes twinkled rather kindly at Draco, but darkened when he look back at Adrian. "I believe he is down by the caverns, waiting for your daughter."

"Sir?" Draco queried.

"Your mother has had to partake in an ancient ritual, Master Malfoy," Dumbledore explained. "However, she should not be too much longer. I am sure she would like you to be there when she returns from her ordeal." He paused thoughtfully. "Yes, I am quite certain she would like that."

**..ooOOoo..**

It was cold, so very cold, in the labyrinth of tunnels under Tintagel, cold and wet and dark. The ground was slippery and uneven underfoot, dropping away without warning. It would be all too easy to stumble and fall, and find oneself separated, lost and alone, easy prey for the creatures that inhabited the caverns to feast upon.

For this reason, no human was permitted to enter the caves without a direct descendant of Morgan le Fay. The beasts lay quiet when an heiress of their mistress was near. All the same, only the Druids were admitted into the caves even then. Narcissa wished it wasn't so. She didn't know exactly what she would find at the end of the murky, winding tunnels, and she wasn't entirely certain that she wanted to find out alone. It was a treacherous thought, one that Narcissa tried to quash, but she could not quite disregard the fact that she had wished it nonetheless...

She suppressed a shiver and tried to concentrate on taking a few deep, calming breaths in order to tempter her agitation. There was an unearthly sadness lingering about the place. The stale air hurt her throat and chilled her lungs, but was not high on her list of concerns. She had heard her late mother speak of the part she was to play in her funeral many, many years beforehand when her grandmother had passed away. As a young girl it had seemed a far distant event to Narcissa, something pushed to the very back of her mind and rarely thought on, something she never really expected to take part in…

She had never expected her mother to die. It was a ludicrous notion, but nevertheless it was also somehow true. Her mother had been a part of her life forever - never dependable, never loving, rarely even physically present, but always _there_ –a strange but invariable constant. It was odd to think that she was really gone. Odd, Narcissa conceded, but not terribly upsetting. She could not truly miss something she had never experienced. If she was mourning anything it was the lost of an idea, an unrealised dream, and nothing more.

Narcissa shook her head, dismissing her musings so that she might concentrate on the moment at hand. The old Druid who had given the rites was a step behind her, and behind him, levitating her mother's body, two subservient members of the Order. The sound of their footsteps echoed horribly around the cavernous chambers, playing tricks on the mind so that it sounding like a whole army was descending into the inky black depths beneath the castle. Added to this, Narcissa was certain that she could hear the sea pounding against the cliffs. She wondered if they had dropped below the waterline, wondered how many tonnes of Cornish granite were held above her head.

She was trapped. Her chest tightened. She hated enclosed spaces. They reminded her too strongly of… of Azkaban. A melancholy wave hit Narcissa, and her breath caught in her throat as her shoulder bumped against the jagged side of the tunnel. The walls were closing in - she stumbled to a halt.

"Not much further." A low voice murmured softly,

Narcissa screwed her eyes shut for a moment. It would never do to reveal her anguish; she could barely understand it. She had only this one last task remaining and then she could return to Lucius and Draco and have them take her home. _Home_. With a sudden surge of strength she tilted her chin upwards and plunged on stubbornly. She could put this all behind her once she was back at the Manor, she could lock it away with every other unpleasant ordeal she had been made to endure during her lifetime and attempt to forget.

A muted glow illuminated the passage, mapping out the correct path to take as they were led on and on, deeper and deeper. The tunnel had become so narrow that Narcissa had to twist and shuffle along sideways, head bowed so as not to crack it against the sloping ceiling. She did not like to consider how the Druids were managing with her mother. Lucius, with his broad frame, would have found it impossible... but she would cope better if she tried not to think about that, about _him_. Narcissa proclaimed her independence far too often not to feel considerably unnerved by the way her mind, if left unchecked, longed for her husband's presence and support.

She hadn't realised it, but she hadn't felt truly alone for years. And now that she was, there was an awful, bubbling sense of panic rising through her body, making her stomach turn and her limbs tremble. She needed to see the sky, to breathe fresh air and feel the wind on her face, but, just as Narcissa thought her heart might burst with the pressure of the enclosed space bearing down upon her, she stepped out of the tiny passage into a vast natural chamber, which was lit by the same strange glow as the path that had led them there.

She gulped the air greedily, trying to steady herself, desperate to at least appear composed. Her eyes had long become accustomed to the dark, and so Narcissa scanned the cavern quickly, picking out the ancient stalagmites and stalactites that had formed over the centuries, twisting like distorted fingers that were clawing at the air. A large underground lake formed the foundation of the cavern. It was immense, disappearing into the darkness, and was skirted on all sides by a rocky beach of only a few feet.

"This is it?" Narcissa asked, her voice reverberated around the dank cave, joining the continuous echo of dripping water.

"This is the gateway, yes," supplied the old Druid. He motioned for the other two men to levitate Elaine down to the lake, where, although Narcissa had not at first noticed it, there was a wooden barge laden with flowers that even she could not name.

"The gateway to Avalon," Narcissa breathed quietly, her mother's final resting place. As her feet carried her forward, towards the pool of icy black water, she was aware of the three pairs of eyes that watched her every movement critically.

"You know what must be done."

"But I do not know how," Narcissa argued, a sliver of doubt snaking its way into her voice as she turned to stare up at the Druid.

"All you must do is open the gate," said the old man matter-of-factly.

"And _how_ would you like me to do that?" Narcissa snapped, feeling foolish, as if she was undertaking a test that she had not bothered to prepare for. Perhaps it was just as well that Lucius was not present? If their places were reversed, he would know, he always knew, and he would despise her uncertainty.

"Step into the water and look for the light."

Narcissa raised an incredulous eyebrow, but had no choice other than to obey. She didn't bother to lift her skirts or even to remove her shoes; she simply stepped down into the freezing lake. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as the cold water covered her feet, biting into her ankles with the same intense sting as a knife cut. Wincing and swallowing a cry, Narcissa retreat within herself to escape the pain. She scoured the cave for the illusive light the Druid had mentioned, but finding nothing, dropped her gaze to the surface of water.

There were dots dancing in front of her eyes, so that for a moment Narcissa feared she might actually faint, until she realised that these spots in her vision were actually tiny little lights glowing beneath the surface of the lake. She squinted sceptically and bent a little closer. They looked like trapped stars, and they were scattered throughout the underground pool, but there was a concentrated beam leading off into the darkness. Narcissa followed it with her eyes, from the start of the trail to the furthest most point. She had always been able to manipulate water. It was a skill she had possessed for as long as she could remember, and so, again and again she repeated the gesture until the glassy surface of the water began to ripple.

Narcissa knew that there were fissures in the world, breaks between realities where the paths to lost cities and forgotten lands could be found. They were places of immense, inescapable sadness, for all that was great had passed, all that was renown lost, it was the strangest feeling to pass one of these cracks unwittingly. An inexplicable shadow would descend, and with it an unbearable pressure that bore down upon the heart, lifting only when one left the fractured site - with distance came relief and with relief - dismissal.

Narcissa's brow furrowed and her breathing became heavier as the sights and sounds of other worlds filled her mind: the bells of Lyonesse were tolling, the lights of Atlantis were glowing, the Priests of Avalon were chanting, _she_ was speaking, but she did not understand her own words, and all the while the bittersweet sadness was growing stronger, building, swamping her senses until there was nothing left but blinding whiteness…

Narcissa stumbled backward into waiting arms that caught her clumsily. They stopped her fall, but not her brief slip into the unconscious. Narcissa had known one moment of aching, bittersweet sadness in her life that overweighed every other, and she was about to be forced to relive it…

**OOoo..ooOO**

She allowed herself to fold up like a concertina the moment she had completed her Apparation. She sat in a little crumpled heap beside the owlery at Cotehele; knees tucked under her chin, eyes squeezed tightly shut. _Well what had she expected?_ Narcissa chided herself furiously, trying to rally even as she fought to ignore the twisting pain that was engulfing her heart. Lucius wasn't her lover! He wasn't even her friend! She had known when she gave herself to him that he was only asking for one night. She had understood that she was trading one moment of happiness for all her hoarded hopes.

But… Narcissa could not deny that she had foolishly clung to denial until the last possible moment… until she had woken that morning. The empty space in the bed beside her had forced Narcissa to accept the terrible truth. Lucius had left her, and was probably waiting in some other part of his house for her to leave, unwilling even to face her. She had done that at least. Narcissa had ensured that she left with her remaining self-respect intact: no demeaning scenes, no pleading, no begging. She had and _would_ cling to her dignity; it was all she had left.

_No. That was not entirely true_, Narcissa corrected herself hesitantly as she shakily picked herself off the dewy floor - the intimate tenderness of her body a constant reminder, as if she needed one, of what had transpired the night before. She had memories too. They were like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. Someday she would lay them out, remembering each moment one by one, recalling the hours of springtime when they had lived.

Someday – but not today.

Her stilted steps led her up the garden path towards the house. Her house. Her house, but not her home. Narcissa's eyes fluttered shut as she recalled only minutes earlier when she had still been at the Malfoy's Manor, creeping through the kitchen gardens before Apparating back to Cotehele. The Malfoy's house had loomed above her so large that it had seemed to fill the sky, but even so, it had not seemed big enough to contain so much. Everything that she had ever wanted, every dream she could never claim, was locked inside its walls.

She pushed open the back door to Cotehele, tears pricking her eyes as she slunk inside. It had been so long since she had cried, so long since anything or anyone had possessed the power to make her feel. Lucius had brought her to life, but only for a moment, only for one night; now it was all over.

Narcissa crept upstairs. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror and suddenly paused. She looked… _What?_ Narcissa willed her mind to name the change. Her hair and face and eyes all looked deceptively the same, but there was a glow, a shine, an energy to her body that marked her as a woman who had been… loved? She snorted derisively at the fanciful thought… _wanted, _for how ever brief a time. Still, Lucius _had_ altered her, like an alchemist muting lead into gold. Her essential nature was changed. He might have taken something from her, but he had also, unwittingly, given something back.

Narcissa shook her head and fought hard against that notion. She wished that she could silence her mind, wished that she could force her whirring thoughts to still, that she could concentrate on the simple mechanical feat of placing one foot in front of the other, on skimming her fingers lightly against the wall as she headed for her room, on anything that would block out the memory of Lucius' skin against her own.

She made it numbly up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom without seeing another living soul, a fact for which Narcissa was immensely glad. She had not had time or energy to think up a plausible excuse for her absence. In fact, she was clinging to the faint hope that she might not have been missed at all.

She was not to be so lucky.

The second Narcissa stepped into her bedroom she could feel his presence. Her father was standing by the window, his back to the door. Narcissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously, he never, ever came up to her room.

"Where have you been?" His voice was frighteningly void of emotion. Narcissa took a backward step.

"With a friend."

"A friend?" Adrian Varvara repeated, turning so that his daughter could see the ugly, flushed colour of his skin. "Do you think me a complete idiot, Narcissa?" he demanded, crossing the room in a few swift steps, watching as his daughter simply shook her head silently. "Do you think I don't know what you've been up to?" he spat, wrenching Narcissa forward by her arm.

"I don't know-" she began defiantly, but a rough shake silenced her.

"_I know_," he hissed.

Narcissa bit her tongue and tried very hard to remain calm as her stomach turned over in horror. Exactly what did he know? She wondered frantically, trying to assess the damage that had been wrought. Did he know about Lucius or Voldemort or-

"I had a visit this morning from a very upset Isabelle Zabini." Adrian paused for a moment to let the words sink in. Narcissa felt all of the colour drain from her face, felt the acrid kiss of nausea burn the back of her throat as her father loomed over her. "You filthy little slut," he roared, catching his daughter off guard and striking her hard across the face.

Narcissa fell, heavily, cracking her head against the side of her bed. She whimpered, and then screamed as her father cruelly seized her by the hair and yanked her back onto her feet. Narcissa's hands curled around his, trying to loosen his hold and prevent him from actually scalping her. It didn't seem to be working very well; she could hear strands of hair being torn from her head as he marched her back across the room.

"As if Crouch is going to take soiled goods," Adrian spat, flinging Narcissa through the doorway so she landed in a heap at the top of the stairs. Wincing and writhing, she stayed where she was, wondering weakly how it was possible that Isabelle knew about her night with Lucius. "As if anyone of importance is going to touch you after you whored yourself to Malfoy."

"I didn't-" Narcissa choked, wanting to argue, wanting to explain that it hadn't been the seedy, sleazy affair her father imagined… and yet perhaps it had? What did she know? She had offered Lucius everything she had, everything she was, and he couldn't even bring himself to look at her the morning after.

"Didn't what?" Adrian hissed. His voice was deadly as he dragged his daughter to her feet again. "Didn't let him fuck you?"

Narcissa flinched, but stood her ground, refusing to speak to deny or confirm the accusation. Blood was mingling with the tears trickling down her face, oozing from the cut her bedpost had left on her temple. Even now, Narcissa knew that it had been worth it, even now, she wouldn't go back and change a thing.

"I asked you a question girl," Adrian snarled, as Narcissa's continued silence served only to stoke his anger.

"Adrian! Please, don't!"

Elaine Varvara's voice, from the very bottom of the stairs, sobbed and shrieked and floated up to meet Narcissa's ears. Something within her father seemed to snap on seeing his wife, and before Narcissa could register quite what had happened she was tumbling backwards. Her hands flailed, grasping at thin air as she was thrown violently down the staircase. She fell half way down the stairs before she hit the first hard wooden step, rolling the rest of the way before coming to rest on the wide square of flooring between the two staircases.

She groaned, winded, choking on the blood that was filling her mouth. Her whole body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out. Her father was going to kill her. Narcissa wondered why he didn't at least use his wand… his wand… _her_ wand. She still had it of course. Her fingers twitched, but the movement sent pain shooting down her side.

She didn't want to fight. She didn't _want_ to die either, but at least then it would all be over. Then she wouldn't have to face the terrifying muted grief that the rest of her life must surely hold in comparison to the fleeting moments that she had spent wrapped in Lucius' arms. Narcissa stifled a sob. Would Lucius care… if she died? That was the thought Narcissa was wondering as the lights began to fade.

Her father was standing over her again, his mouth was moving, but she couldn't understand the words. A woman was screaming. And then she was falling again, only this time she seemed to be watching her body from afar. Narcissa frowned curiously as, like a broken rag doll, she hit every step on the way down the second staircase, landing in a twisted heap on the flagstone floor. She saw her mother sobbing hysterically over her body while red blood pooled beneath…

**OOoo..ooOO**

Narcissa regained consciousness with a gasp, and for one short terrifying moment she thought she was back in St Mungos. Except… hospitals didn't usually smell of the sea. Narcissa's eyes strained, trying to identify their surroundings, but everything was swathed in darkness. However, the sound of dripping water that met her ears, and the kiss of cold air against her skin, quickly betrayed Narcissa's location; she was still in the caverns, still at Tintagel. Narcissa struggled free from the unfamiliar arms that were holding her up, and then turned sharply to face the old Druid by her side.

"What happened?" she demanded, appalled by the quaver in her voice. They had left the lake. Her mother was gone.

"You fainted." There was the smallest flicker of smug satisfaction in the old man's eyes as he revealed this fact. "That can happen during the ritual to those of a delicate disposition," he smirked.

Narcissa's face contorted in a sneer quite worthy of her husband. She wanted to vehemently deny the Druid's taunt, and yet, if she did she would have to explain – and to explain that some of her memories were so terrible that her body physically shut down in a vain attempt to block them out was not something that she was prepared to admit to anyone.

Narcissa tried to smooth the scowl off her face, and then tried to replace it with a look of grief, as a daughter should wear. She wondered if her mother had finally found peace on the little lost isle of Avalon, if her soul was now at rest, or if she was doomed to wander the realm of the living, as miserable in death as she had been in life?

They were walking, Narcissa had hardly realised it until she saw daylight up ahead. She had never been scared of the dark, never been afraid of the night, but in that one fleeting moment she wanted nothing more than to run out into the sun. She didn't, of course; such an act would have been utterly beneath her, but the urge was there nevertheless: to bathe in sunlight, if only for a moment.

Once again she felt painfully hemmed in, each step she took was a little tenser, each breath a little shallower, until, finally, she emerged from the caverns. Narcissa was bowed down by too many weights to notice the pressure of one leave her shoulders, but she did feel warmth creep back into her limbs and stir her sluggish blood. All the same, she had barely let the sun kiss her face before a shadow blocked it out again. Albus Dumbledore was standing in front of her, nodding politely to the Druids as they passed by.

Narcissa's lips pinched into a thin, sour line. She doubted very much that he was here to offer condolences, and she had absolutely no desire to be reminded of the palaver of the last school year, of the diary; she refused to think about that mess and had been more than happy in her state of denial! Admittedly, she did have a sneaky suspicion that Lucius didn't actually mind his removal from the school governors as much as he had protested… Oh, but it was irksome! To have been bested by that beastly Potter boy… her hands clenched as she tried to remind herself that she was attending her mother's funeral and that such subjects were hardly appropriate for conversation.

"Headmaster." Her voice was cold, crisp just shy of being openly disrespectful. "I had no idea you would be joining us this morning."

"Nor did your husband I expect."

"I would not dare speculate on what Mr Malfoy does or does not know," Narcissa simpered innocently.

"Would you not?" Dumbledore mused. His eyebrows arched while his eyes twinkled their infuriatingly knowing twinkle. Narcissa was swept by the sudden urge to claw those blue orbs out of their sockets. "I would have thought there was little, if anything, Mr Malfoy knows which you do not."

Narcissa's breath was released in a quiet little hiss. Her feigned innocence had always been one of the Malfoy's greatest assets, and while the Hogwarts Headmaster seemed to have long suspected this was so, and thus dropped niggling little hints that he was not fooled by their bluff, he had never found any proof to support his theory. There was always a first time, a _last_ time, and Narcissa could not suppress a small clutch of fear.

"I was not aware you knew my mother," she said as calmly as she could manage, ignoring the Headmaster's statement as if it had not been spoken. The indulgent twinkle had turned into more of a dangerous glint, she noted.

"I didn't," he said, in a tone of voice that suggested it was perfectly normal to arrive at the funerals of people one did not know. "But, of course, I knew of her legacy." Narcissa rather thought he enjoyed her annoyed frown. "_Your_ legacy. Tell me, Narcissa-" Dumbledore paused, smiled, and corrected himself, "-forgive me, _Mrs Malfoy_, who will see you off to Avalon when you pass away?"

"No one," she said shortly, as if nothing could be plainer, "when the time comes, I have every intention of being lain to rest in the Malfoy vault alongside my husband."

Narcissa had given this assertion a surprisingly little amount of thought. She had certainly never spoken about it before. Narcissa did not like to think that she did things by halves, when she had married Lucius she had accepted everything that went along with that life altering decision, even those alternations that would take effect after her death.

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, and for the shortest time imaginable Narcissa thought she glimpse a grudging flicker of… respect… in his eyes, but then he spoke and it was gone:

"Loyalty, you know, is often thought the very noblest of qualities, but if that loyalty is misplaced it can be the very worst."

"And riddles, Headmaster," Narcissa countered, unabashed, "are a wonderful way of saying the things we fear to state openly."

Dumbledore simply nodded, looking suddenly very old and very wise, while Narcissa felt like a child ignorant of the workings of the world.

"I advise you to keep him out of trouble Narcissa; you will not save him a second time."

**..ooOOoo..**

Lucius had watched his wife emerge from the caverns from afar, and experienced a surge of relief that was rather troublingly impossible to deny. He had been waiting for over an hour, his body unmoving, his gaze unflinching, studying the cave mouth. Lucius had a fair vantage point from the spot he had chosen, elevated slightly so that he could see but not be seen from below. It would never do to _appear_ as though he was anxiously waiting…

As the minutes ambled by, he had occupied himself by considering the exact nature of Tintagel. It was quite the Muggle tourist trap. Lucius fought off a disgusted sneer. There were incredibly powerful glamours cast over the Druidical realm of the castle to keep the Muggles at bay of course, but why the Druids permitted this obvious taint on such a sacred sight Lucius could not for the life of him understand. Or rather, he could _understand_, he knew _why_, he just did not _accept_ the reasoning behind the decision.

It was well known that Tintagel claimed to be the birthplace of King Arthur, a Mudblood who had become the Muggle's king, possibly the greatest king the country had ever known. Arthur was still very much alive in the hearts of the people, and so the Druids insisted that they did not have the right to prevent the non-wizarding population's pilgrimage to Tintagel. Lucius frankly thought they were giving the Muggles _far_ too much credit. He failed to see how they could class an afternoon of brainless sightseeing as anything so sanctified.

Thoroughly irritated by this train of thought, Lucius had turned his full attention back to the cavern that Narcissa had disappeared down. He could not believe that she had gone alone, could not _bear_ that she was beyond his reach…

Lucius's gaze had became riveted so very intently on the cave mouth that he failed to notice a figure moving closer until it was too late to intervene. He became aware of Albus Dumbledore's presence at precisely the same moment as Narcissa. Powerless to avert the meeting Lucius had only been able to play the role of passive spectator.

He was unable to hear what was being said, but Narcissa's body language betrayed her thoughts. If she held herself anymore stiffly she would snap. Lucius clenched his own jaw, griped the silver snakehead crown of his cane tightly, and prepared to wander down the grassy path that led to the cavern's entrance- except he was thwarted.

"Lucius," hissed a decidedly serpentine voice.

"Good morning, Adrian," Lucius sneered, without even turning to look in his father-in-law's direction. There was a chuckle of soft, silky laughter that grated on Lucius' nerves like fingernails running down a blackboard.

"Draco and I-"

This time Lucius' head did snap around to the side, a reaction that caused his father-in-law to pause smugly. Lucius seethed; his son, _his son_, was standing beside Adrian Varvara. Did the boy need _constant_ supervision to keep him out of trouble? The urge to physically wrench Draco away from the loathsome man was so strong that Lucius' grip on his cane threatened to permanently embed silver and leather in the palm of his hand.

"I was under the impression we had discussed what would happen to you if you approached my son?" he drawled.

"Ah now Lucius, is my seeing, or not seeing, my own grandson really a decision for you to make alone?" Mr Varvara gave a calculated sigh, while the insultingly condescending tone of his voice nearly caused Lucius to choke in disbelief.

"_Clearly_ the grief has gone to your head if you think Narcissa wants you anywhere near Draco," he snarled dangerously, once he had recovered, momentarily satisfied by the hostile scowl that rested on his father-in-law's brow.

"Well perhaps _Draco_ has an opinion of his own on the matter?"

Draco visibly paled as the two men turned to him. He glanced between his father and grandfather; the former was looking absolutely furious, while the latter was smiling in the most frightening manner that Draco had ever seen. He gulped nervously and stayed silent.

A cold smirk twisted Lucius' lips. "Tripping over himself in his eagerness to visit you at Cotehele isn't he?"

"I didn't hear him say that he didn't want to come," Adrian barked.

"I didn't hear him say anything."

Draco sagged and shot his mother a thankful glance. She had just appeared at his side, completing their little circle, standing between him and his father and opposite his grandfather. Draco felt some of the tension seep from his body; he had developed a strange, implicit belief in his mother – if she was present then nothing too bad could happen to him. She had said that she loved him that day at the station, and all of a sudden he understood - he believed her.

"Narcissa," Adrian spat his daughter's name disdainfully.

"I should like to leave now," she announced calmly, turning to Lucius, ignoring her father as if, not only he hadn't spoken, but as if he wasn't even present. Narcissa watched with some relief as her husband nodded, acquiescing to her request, however Lucius was not actually afforded the opportunity to speak.

"Then leave. Rumour has it you are quite the independent women, I'm sure you don't require an escort. _You_ are not needed here," Adrian continued cruelly, "but Draco and I were having a most enlightening conversation, and things were becoming highly interesting."

"I cannot imagine that my son would have anything to say to you," Narcissa stated coldly, absorbing her father's barbs with at least no outward sign distress, but inside she was bleeding. Lucius had heard that curt dismissal, Draco had witnessed it, and all the while Dumbledore's threat was still echoing inside her head.

"Your son?" Mr Varvara reflected on this while an ugly grimace twisted his lips. "Ironic isn't it, how you required a daughter to continue all of this," he said with a dismissive wave at the ruins, "and yet you got him-" Draco visibly flinched, "-and all I needed was a son and I got saddled with-"

"Enough!" Lucius interrupted his father-in-law furiously. He had listened incredulously to Adrian's onslaught, temporarily unable to speak through his fury. Thankfully he found his voice at this critical moment. "Or are you in a particular hurry to join your wife?" he growled darkly.

"You cannot touch me here, Malfoy," Adrian gloated, but Narcissa could have sworn she saw a faint flicker of fear alight her father's dark eyes. It made her feel slightly better.

"We're going," Lucius snapped, his hand clamped down on his wife's arm, more tightly than was necessary.

"Goodbye Draco," Adrian said pointedly, "do give some thought to what I said earlier. You have potential." He paused, letting the Malfoys walk almost beyond hearing range before adding; "You can't help who your parents are, after all. I pity you your mother, I'm certain she doesn't have a maternal bone in her body-"

Lucius stopped dead. He had been attempting to feign deafness, but there were some lines he would not see crossed! Draco almost walked into him, lost in his own thoughts, but had the sense to step to the side when his father pivoted on the spot, turning to face Mr Varvara.

"-but of course, that's not what you keep her around for, is it Malfoy?"

Lucius attempted to swallow, as if he could somehow maintain control if he could manage to execute that tiny act, as if he could somehow quash down his threatening rage and prevent it from overflowing, but his throat felt tight and his muscles rigid. He swapped his cane from his right hand to his left, balling his fist subconsciously as he stalked back towards his father-in-law.

Narcissa watched the scene unfolding, almost paralysed with dread. Her father looked perfectly confident in the knowledge that his son-in-law had no power within the Druid's realm. As she had told Lucius and Draco earlier, all magic was a mere distorted echo of itself around Tintagel. She bit down on her lip nervously. Her father raised a calm eyebrow as Lucius drew closer before stopping, and then he laughed, he actually laughed.

"I told you, Malfoy, you cannot touch me here."

Lucius dipped his head momentarily to the side; he would kill the man with his bare hands if he had to look at him for another second. When he trusted himself to glare back at Adrian, his face was a mask of forced calm. His lips twisted in the coldest, cruellest smile imaginable, and then he allowed himself to snap.

Adrian's eyes barely had time to widen in shock before the air was filled with the sharp crack of leather on skin. The sound seemed to linger, stretching out endlessly as Lucius's fist connected with Adrian's jaw and the older man's neck snapped back. He fell, inelegantly, sprawled on the grass.

Lucius permitted himself a contemptuous sneer, even as he restrained himself from doing more. He relaxed his fist, dusting the back of his glove as though the mere touch of Adrian Varvara had polluted it. Then, as if unaware of the shocked gasps and stares that followed in his wake - for a number of Druids had happened upon the fight - he twisted on his heel and returned calmly to the side of his wife.

The expression on Narcissa's face was one of complete disbelief. Her eyes were wide and stunned, and her hands were raised to her slightly parted mouth. She looked at Lucius and blinked three times. Once- her hands fell away from her face, twice- her lips closed while her eyes narrowed, three times- she was herself again: utterly unreadable.

The drugging adrenaline that had carried Lucius through the moments before began to fade away, replaced by a tinge of dread. He was not given to brawling in public- save one memorable occasion when he had taken Draco to purchase his schoolbooks the year before, but this was different. This was a punch he had been restraining for fifteen years. It was the first payment on a debt already long overdue.

Now might not be the time for a full accounting, and his method of reckoning was questionable to say the least, but if Narcissa could not at least see that he had been acting with her best interests at heart then Lucius despaired of ever being able to reach her… and he _did_ want to reach her, he realised. He just wasn't sure that he could.

**- **


	20. Chapter Twenty: The First of September

**Tainted Love**

**Disclaimer**: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines. The name 'Poldark' is used in homage of Winston Graham's delightful Cornish family saga.

**N/B**: Proofread by Kirixchi.

**A/N**: I do apologise for the long delay between posts, however, as much as I love writing this story, TL is very clearly not my day job. It takes a huge amount of time and effort to work through several drafts of a chapter and to then have the final draft edited. If there is a delay between posts it is simply because Kirixchi and I sadly do not have a limitless amount of free hours to dedicate to a story that I'm writing for fun. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding - Catherine.

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**Tainted Love**

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**Chapter Twenty: The First of September**

Narcissa Malfoy lay down her quill, and glanced at the carriage clock that was sitting on her escritoire. It was late afternoon. Draco would be well on his way to Hogwarts by now - ensconced in a carriage, surrounded by his Slytherin schoolmates. She was sorry to have seen him off on the train that morning; the house always seemed so much bigger, so much emptier when he was away at school. It was strange really, how the lost of one person in a residence the size of the Manor could have such an effect.

But… though the rooms echoed with Draco's absence, Narcissa could not deny that she remained uncharacteristically cheerful. Disrespectful thought it no doubt was, she had been in an uncommonly happy mood ever since returning from her mother's funeral a few days beforehand. No doubt relief that it was finally all over played a part in her good humour, but Narcissa was well aware of what, or rather, of _who_, had really placed a near permanent smile on her face.

Lucius.

She sighed distractedly. He had been… incredible that day at Tintagel. Even when he had finally snapped, as Narcissa had known he eventually would, it had not been _with_ her, it had been _for_ her. She didn't think her father had ever looked more shocked than in the spilt second before his son-in-law knocked him out cold. Narcissa could not help but laugh softly.

She supposed that she should disapprove of Lucius' reaction to her father's incessant provocation, but she just… couldn't somehow. Her father had always been a man to use his fists before his wand, and so, to see him taken care of so effortlessly by _her_ husband had been really rather thrilling, and, if she was honest, more than a little satisfying. She was waiting, of course, for Adrian Varvara to strike back, but in the meantime, she was enjoying their little victory. She intended to let Lucius know exactly how grateful she was that evening, now that they had the house to themselves.

Narcissa smiled softly, and then absent-mindedly read over the letter she had just written to her late mother's solicitor. She sealed it in the same preoccupied manner and then rang a little silver bell that was sitting on the writing desk. The tiny clapper made no sound as it struck the bell-side, but there was an immediate crack, and a battered looking house elf appeared.

The Malfoy's house elves had experienced a rather bad run of luck since losing their associate Dobby. Sickened by the mere sight of his wretched servants, Lucius had employed a number of human workers to replace the elves in all public roles of servitude, in an effort that the family could be spared any reminder of their treacherous ex-servant. However, Narcissa was fast running out of patience with the new staff. They were utterly incompetent. So she had taken to calling on the elves when Lucius was out of the house. The miserable little creature in question was prostrating itself on the carpet, awaiting its mistress's orders.

"Get up," Narcissa commanded impatiently.

With many wet snuffles the trembling elf got to its feet. "W-what can Podge be doing for the Mistress?" the seemingly male elf asked dolefully.

"Tea."

The elf's droopy ears pricked with relief. He clicked his bandaged fingers and a pretty china tea service appeared in a puff of purple smoke. Teapot, teacup, a dainty milk jug, and a pot of hot water, all sat innocently on the tray that Podge placed on a Rococo console table, accompanied by a not quite so innocent phial of violet potion. Narcissa reached for this first, and drank it in a resigned fashion while the elf fixed her tea.

Podge quickly handed the milky beverage to his mistress, and then collected the empty phial from where Narcissa had placed it on the writing desk.

"Is Mistress wanting anything else?" he squeaked hesitantly, wringing his bandaged hands.

"No, that will-" Narcissa paused and frowned.

There was a rather large owl tapping on her sitting room window. Draco's owl to be precise. Narcissa's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. What had he forgotten _this_ time? Every year without fail he left _something _behind. He couldn't have even reached Hogwarts yet!

"Well?" she hissed in the elf's direction. "Let it in."

Podge gave a small squeak of terror and ran across the room. He tripped over the rag of a pillowcase that he was wearing and propelled himself into the wall with a nasty crack. Narcissa bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from cursing. Perhaps Lucius did have a valid point about the elves after all?

Once the creature had recovered, he picked himself up, stumbled and opened the window. Draco's handsome eagle owl swooped into the room and dropped a scrap of parchment in front of Narcissa. She unfolded the paper, motioning with an inattentive wave of her hand for the elf to take care of the bird while she read:

* * *

_Mother,_

_I'm still on the Hogwarts Express, (I really don't see why we have to use such a slow form of transport) but I had to let you know what's happened! The train was boarded by Dementors!!! I didn't think they were allowed to leave Azkaban? Flint says they're standing guard over the school, something to do with Black. Do you or father know what's going on? It was so strange when they came into the carriage. Almost like – all the happiness had gone out of the world, like we'd never be happy again – if that makes any sense? Well anyway, I must say, at least none of the Slytherin's fainted like that idiot Potter! _

_Draco_

* * *

Narcissa lay the letter down on the writing table with faintly trembling hands. Dementors. At Hogwarts? Draco, her son, her _baby_, had been exposed to those… monsters… those _things_. She drew a ragged breath and pushed herself to her feet. How was it possible that she and Lucius had not known about this? Why hadn't they been told? Why hadn't their _permission_ been asked? As parents with a child at the school surely they had some say in the matter!

Her eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. Lucius would not have given his permission without consulting her first, would he?

Narcissa's first reaction was a vehement, _no_, but the more she thought about it the more uncertain she became. She had hardly been feeling herself lately. Perhaps Lucius had not trusted her to have a say in the matter? Because, regardless of whether or not there had been a letter from the school, she was absolutely certain that her husband's connections at the Ministry could not have left him ignorant of the Dementors appointment at Hogwarts! Which could only mean one thing - he had _chosen_ not to tell her!

Narcissa stormed out of the sitting room, muttering a few choice words beneath her breath. She had never let Lucius go unpunished for leaving her in the dark before, and she certainly wasn't going to alter the habit of a lifetime when her son's safety was in question!

She was far too angry to stop and think, far too angry to even pause and collect her cloak. Narcissa swept into the Manor's imposing entrance hall and made for the large stone hearth that dominated the wall opposite the broad staircase. She snatched up a handful of floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, and stepped into the emerald flames without pause, hissing as she did so:

"Ministry of Magic, Department of International Magic Cooperation!"

The dizzily spinning grates flashing before the slits of Narcissa's eyes did nothing to settle her tempter. Indeed, by the time she stepped out of the grate and into the reception area of the Department of International Magic Cooperation she had cracked her elbow twice against a rough stone chimneybreast, caught a burning ember in her eye, and had an expression like thunder emblazoned across her soot-smudged face.

"Ugh, M-Mrs Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy can I- can I help you?"

The middle-aged receptionist sitting behind the front desk stammered madly as Narcissa marched straight by her, towards the I.M.C. offices without pausing to utter a single word.

**..ooOOoo..**

Lucius didn't immediately look up from his desk on hearing his door burst open. He did, however, immediately contemplate reaching for his wand and casting a solid hex on the unwanted intruder. He thought better of it in the end; the Ministry was so funny about that kind of thing. It wasn't worth the paper work, and on glancing up, Lucius was immensely relieved that temperance had ultimately won out. He raised a curious, and not wholly un-amused eyebrow as his somewhat dishevelled wife stormed into the room.

"Narcissa," Lucius drawled, getting to his feet, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"How _dare_ you?" she exploded without warning, advancing on the desk and resting her hands on it antagonistically.

An expanse of cluttered paperwork was all that separated her from her husband. Lucius looked quite genuinely taken aback by her outburst, but Narcissa was in no mood to notice. All she saw was one condescending eyebrow lift as her husband icily repeated:

"How dare I _what_?"

"Draco sent me an owl!" she exclaimed, voice much louder than was mannerly. Her cheeks were flushed as she continued: "How you thought I'd _ever_ let you get away with-"

"Narcissa!" Lucius snapped, cutting off her tirade. His height gave him an advantage as he glowered across the desk at his wife, eyes narrowed dangerously. "_What_ are you talking about?" he demanded furiously.

"Guess," she hissed cruelly, "unless you make a habit of betraying me?"

"I think," Lucius began, straining to keep his voice void of any revealing trace of emotion, "that you had best explain yourself while I am still prepared to listen to you, Narcissa."

"I know about the Dementors," she railed, slamming a fist down upon the table the top in an exceptionally rare display of physical aggression.

"You know _what_ about the Dementors?" Lucius asked, a ghostly chill entering his voice. It seemed to sap some of his fury. A haunted flame had flickered to life in the depths of his eyes, ignited by the inescapable, all consuming terror that lay dormant in the souls of all men who had been held captive by the hellish guards of Azkaban.

Narcissa tried desperately to ignore the disturbed look that clouded her husband's eyes in an attempt to sustain her anger.

"I know that they've been stationed at Hogwarts. I know that they boarded the Hogwarts Express this afternoon. _Draco_ was on that train, Lucius!" she exclaimed, her voice finally cracking with a desperately raw kind of fear. She laid her hands flat on the desk again and stared up at her husband, waiting for him to try to justify his actions.

Except he didn't…

Narcissa had rarely seen the colour drain from Lucius' face, but she watched, lips slightly parted, as his skin greyed. _He didn't know_, or rather, he hadn't, not until that very second. She felt something akin to a very heavy blow strike the pit of her stomach. He hadn't known. And she'd- she'd- Her eyes clenched shut.

"How could you not know?" Narcissa asked weakly, her implicit belief in his importance creeping into her words. "You hear about everything that goes on inside the Ministry."

"Evidently not," Lucius snarled regaining fragments of his composure. He stalked around the large desk, caught Narcissa by the shoulders and pushed her down into a chair. "You, however, are going to tell me everything."

Narcissa continued to stare up at her husband as he loomed over her. Either he sensed her discomfort, or he simply didn't have the energy to stand any longer, because he suddenly crouched down on his haunches, levelling their eyes as he placed his hands on the armrests of Narcissa's seat. It was the perfect illusion. He was holding her captive - his dominance reigned… except Lucius knew perfectly well that the smallest hint of resistance on Narcissa's part would free her instantly.

"_Narcissa_," he implored, his voice a very slightly gentler growl. "You _must_ tell me."

She nodded silently, but hardly knew where to begin. She didn't know that much after all, and the little she had learnt was simply Draco's hearsay. Besides, she could hardly bring herself to look at Lucius, let alone speak, after the complete wrongness of her accusations against him.

"Draco sent this," Narcissa forced herself to whisper, pulling her son's crumpled letter from a pocket in her dress. Lucius snatched it away from her without comment. She watched his face as he scanned the note quickly. Anger was steadily returning the colour to his features, but there remained an underlying emptiness in Lucius' eyes that made Narcissa's heart ache. How she yearned to reach out to him and soothe away that deep-rooted pain.

"He saw them."

It was not so much a question as a statement. A chill skated down Narcissa's back at the deadened tones of Lucius' voice. She could only nod helplessly.

"They were close enough to… affect him."

"Yes," Narcissa choked.

Lucius stood, drawing himself up to his full height, shaking his head and muttering darkly under his breath as he did so. Narcissa followed instantly. She couldn't quite catch what he was saying; he had stopped looking at her, but she laid a hand on his arm before he could turn away completely. She needed to keep him close.

"But, at least he seems to have coped?" Narcissa offered gently. "At least he's all right. Draco has no memories that are bad enough to-" her voice gradually trailed off under the incredible harshness of Lucius' stare.

"You think that's any consolation?" he snarled, watching as his wife flinched. "Narcissa, those Dementors could have-"

"Don't!" she begged, eyes wide as her hands balled impotently against his chest. "Please, don't say it," she whispered hoarsely, splaying her fingers against the fabric of Lucius' shirt, seeking out the heat of his skin as she pressing herself against his body. Every point of contact seemed to ease a little warmth back into her chilled limbs.

She felt frozen from the inside out – a faint echo of the memory of Azkaban, but a memory that had to be a hundred times worse for Lucius. He had lived, for much longer than Narcissa cared to remember, with the threat of the Dementor's Kiss hanging over him. It had changed him. The prison had stripped Lucius back to the bone, gone was his roughish charm, quick smile and carefree laugh. When her husband was released he was sterner, colder, harder… but never had he been dearer to Narcissa… And so, to think that their son had been touched, however briefly, by a part of that dark, dangerous world was utterly unbearable.

"You're shaking," Lucius murmured. His voice was surprisingly soft, especially given the strength of his anger only a moment before. He was speaking just beside her ear, his breath whispering against her hair. Narcissa tensed, she hadn't even realised it herself, but pressed flush against Lucius' body her husband could feel every tiny tremble. His hands trailed over her back, moving in soothing circles as he tried to comfort her.

"He's only a child, Lucius," Narcissa whispered. "He should never have been exposed to those things," she hissed bitterly.

"No, he shouldn't have," Lucius growled in agreement, his eyes narrowing with a renewed surge of anger. "Wait here," he commanded gruffly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. He pulled back, but then he seemed to hesitate.

Narcissa raised her eyes to his in question. "Lucius-"

"Write Draco a reply," he said quickly, not giving Narcissa a chance to respond before he dipped his head low and captured her mouth, unapologetically desperate as he sought to find relief in her touch.

Narcissa gave a small gasp of surprise, opening to her husband's raw exploration. Welcoming it, needing it, revelling in the intimacy of his embrace. She wanted to knot her fingers in his hair, lose herself in his heady, masculine scent, hold him close and keep him near to counteract the evils of that afternoon, but Lucius released her, far sooner than Narcissa would have wished.

"Wait here," he repeated his command breathlessly, taking a moment to compose himself before he forced himself to leave his wife's side.

Narcissa stared at the office door for quite a while after Lucius had left. She raised her fingers distractedly, tracing them slowly, pensively over her swollen lips. It was selfish perhaps, but she did feel a little better after sharing her burden. Still, it was deeply unsettling to see Lucius so very disturbed, she supposed it was her own fault, for allowing herself to become so dependent upon his strength. It wasn't that she thought fear a weakness precisely. It was simply that anything with the power to spook Lucius left her numb with dread.

If only she had been thinking clearly earlier that afternoon! Narcissa cursed herself in disgust. She would have known that her husband was innocent of the charges of which she had cruelly accused him. Lucius would never have been able to contain himself had he known that Draco was to be exposed the guards of Azkaban!

Feeling anxious and foolish, and quite ready to worry herself to death, Narcissa moved to settle herself in her husband's chair. Once seated, she rooted through the jumble of papers on his desk for a clean piece of parchment. Narcissa had no idea what she was going to write in reply to Draco, but any task seemed preferable to sitting and doing nothing while she waited for Lucius' return. She could guess where he had gone… but could not find it in herself to be angry with him for leaving her behind this time.

Narcissa found _it_ under a stack of folders as she was clearing a space on the desktop - a little crimson memorandum from Minister Fudge that had been hidden away under a backlog of paperwork. It was sealed, but she didn't need to open it to hazard a guess as to what it contained. It simply _had_ to be related to the Dementors stationing at Hogwarts.

Lucius had missed a fair amount of work recently - Narcissa was well aware of whose fault that was - and he had never been one to arrange things in any semblance of order. The memo _could_ have been sitting unread for weeks, but Narcissa rather though that it had arrived sometime during her husband's absence from the Ministry.

She hesitated for an age, but finally Narcissa carefully placed the memo back where she had found it. No doubt Lucius would encounter it sooner or later, and heads were sure to roll when he did, but not today. She wouldn't inflict another blow.

Narcissa had only just finished perfecting the unique disarray of the desk when the office door was thrown open. It rattled dangerously in its frame when Lucius slammed it shut after stepping into the room.

"That was awfully quick," Narcissa sighed unhappily. The way Lucius was glowering made her wonder if silence would have been a safer tactic, but safe or not, she couldn't hold her tongue when he refused to speak. "Well?" she pressed.

"Fudge isn't around, but I did speak briefly with his Deputy Minister," Lucius divulged, his voice dripping with distain as he strolled over to the desk.

Narcissa nodded quickly, urging him to continue, and then, realising she was sitting in his chair immediately moved to stand, except Lucius held up a hand and motioned for her to stay seated.

"It's because of Black's escape," he spat. He walked across the room to stand beside Narcissa, and then leant back against the desk, enabling himself to look down at his wife's face. "They think he's after Potter." He watched as Narcissa's mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise as she absorbed this rather surprising news.

"But why would they think that?" she asked, staring up at Lucius as he shook his head irritably.

"Because of something he was rambling about in Azkaban, I'm told."

"But Lucius," Narcissa said slowly, after a small pause. She was frowning mildly and thinking things through as she spoke. "Sirius Black is no threat to the Potter's boy. Well, not unless Azkaban really has driven him mad, but-"

"Would you like to say that a little clearer, Narcissa?" Lucius interrupted sharply. "I'm sure the Ministry would be most interested in hearing exactly how it is that you know such a things."

Narcissa bowed her fair head, blushing furiously; she was usually perfectly cautious, perfectly clear-headed. It was improbable, but not wholly impossible, that Lucius' office was bugged, and she should really know better than to speak of such perilous subjects outside the safety of the Manor. It was just that it was so utterly terrible to think that Draco was being placed in such danger for no reason! And that she was absolutely powerless to do anything that might improve the situation… _Powerless_? Narcissa shifted guiltily. Perhaps that was not exactly the right word… she had a choice, she was just choosing self-preservation, wasn't she?

Narcissa stood up slowly, her hands were linked contritely in front of her body, and her head was still bowed, low and dejected.

"Well then, I take it there is little chance of Minister Fudge changing his mind, and removing the Dementors from Hogwarts before Sirius Black has been caught?" she asked softly, attempting to ignore her husband's previous, brusque, chastisement.

"No," Lucius snorted in disgust, utterly unused to finding himself foiled, and not coping too graciously with the change. He folded his arms angrily across his chest and glared at the floor. "He's even gone against Dumbledore to put them in place. He's being uncharacteristically determined. I don't imagine he'll change his mind."

"I see," Narcissa nodded, not because she did exactly - for surely Fudge could be worked upon, _all_ men could be worked upon - but because she felt the need to say _something _to fend off silence. "Why do you think that is?" she mused aloud. "Because it's Master Potter?"

"Does it matter?" Lucius snapped. He was angry, and growing angrier with himself for taking it out on Narcissa. She lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes steady, reproachful and so unbearably sad that Lucius automatically reached out a hand to draw her near, but he cleared his throat and made a pretence of brushing away a smudge of soot that was still sitting on her cheek when those same sad eyes of hers widened in surprise.

"I should go," Narcissa murmured, moving away. "It looks like you have a lot to get through." She nodded towards the pile of papers that were stacked high on the desk. "And I need some time to… to get used to this," she muttered, shaking her fair head miserably. "I'll write to Draco from home."

Lucius nodded silently, his eyes following his wife closely as she walked towards his office door. She looked terribly weighed down again. It had been so encouraging to see Narcissa's spirits lift over the past few days, even if Lucius _had_ been at a loss to understand precisely _why_ she had been in such a good humour. He hadn't questioned it; given the reaction that he had been expecting from Narcissa after returning from his mother-in-law's funeral, he was more than willing to let sleeping dogs lie. Still, now he wanted to say something, to offer her some comfort, but hollow words of hope had never been suited to them, and so he simply watched, still silent, as Narcissa pulled open the door.

She looked over her shoulder at the last possible second. Their eyes locked. There was such a wealth of shared experience in the glance that passed between them that, for once, words actually were unnecessary.

Lucius slumped heavily in his chair as soon as the door closed behind Narcissa. It was happening again. After he had promised himself that he would never again sit in ignorance while someone dear to him was in danger!

**OOoo..ooOO**

Lucius sat and waited. He was early. But it was always better to err on the side of caution when dealing with the Dark Lord. He looked down at the black summons in his hand and tried to concentrate, tried to recapture the clinical, detached edge that had served him so well in past… in the tranquil days before Narcissa.

Lucius had attempted to exorcise her from his thoughts, but she haunted him mercilessly. He heard her voice, pictured her face and craved her touch. The scent of her perfume seemed to linger in every room of the Manor – _in rooms she had never even entered!_ He thought savagely. She was everywhere and nowhere, and Lucius was in agony.

It had been exactly three days since he had discovered her gone, but Lucius refused to yield. He wasn't going to go after Narcissa. He was going to chase her back to Cotehele and demand the answers that she clearly didn't want to give. He had quickly decided that not being beside her when she woke had something to do with her disappearance, but not to wait? Not to come and find him? To scurry away as if she was _ashamed_ of their night together… as if she regretted it! Lucius locked his jaw. Surely she had felt what he had? He could not believe that he was suffering this freefall alone. He _would_ not believe it.

And yet, did he have any choice? He had heard nothing from Narcissa since she had vanished like a thief in the night. He did not want to imagine what she might have stolen...

"You seem to be making a habit of this, Malfoy. I had no idea you were so punctual. I thought your kind was all for fashionable lateness and the like?"

Lucius lifted his head to look up at the man standing beside him. His composed appearance did not belie his racing mind. _Snape_? He had thought that Karkaroff's other summons was for Lestrange? Rodolphus was clearly out of favour after the fiasco in London if the younger wizard had been sent for in his stead. It was a dangerous position for Lestrange to find himself, Lucius reflected grimly.

No longer content to remain seated while Snape insisted on standing, Lucius got to his feet and gazed absently around platform 3¼. There were no other passengers - there wasn't even a guard on duty. That was hardly surprising, given that the line technically shouldn't have existed. It had fallen into virtual disuse during the 1930s, and been closed entirely sometime in the late 1960s. Voldemort had taken it upon himself to order its restoration.

The Dark Lord liked to conduct the most secret of his meetings from the safety of a moving train. It was more difficult to track, to bug, to attack. The amount of magic that had gone into concealing the railway from Muggle _and_ Wizard eyes was excessive, but it did mean that the line was one of the most impenetrable areas in Britain.

"She's all right, isn't she?" Snape murmured suddenly, staring hard at his feet. Lucius turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

But of course, he knew 'who'. How many women had Snape left to die recently?

"Narcissa. Karkaroff said she was with you."

"She was," Lucius replied, tone clipped as he fought to reveal nothing while remembering everything.

"And still is?" Snape pressed. "She's not at Cotehele."

"What?" Lucius' head snapped to the side, all of his feigned composure forgotten. "What do you mean she's not at Cotehele?" he demanded roughly.

Snape frowned, and scratched his greasy hair. He looked puzzled, but he never had a chance to formulate a reply to Lucius' question. An impressive black steam train rolled silently into the station at just that moment. Both men stiffened, watching with keen eyes as the great engine slowed to a complete stop. It was only coupled to three carriages – the Dark Lord's private quarters, the public area he used for his meetings, and a cordoned off, windowless coach that Lord Voldemort alone entered willingly...

It was the doors of the middle carriage that opened out onto the platform, and those doors that Lucius and Snape approached. They were stopped on entry by two huge, cloaked figures that snatched their summons from their hands and then hauled them inside the train.

Lucius could already feel the tension in his body increasing, his lip curling and pride revolting at this treatment. He tried to stop it, or at the very least, to control it, but his mind was not nearly as focused as it needed to be. It was still dwelling too intently on the face of a pretty blonde, struggling to rationalise her disappearance.

"Lucius. Severus." A voice whispered from the other end of the coach, curling itself around the names like a hissing snake. "My loyal followers. My competent followers."

The two men bowed low, waiting to be beckoned forward before they dared move any further into the dimly lit carriage. They were left standing only a moment, however, before a shadowy arm waved them closer. A jewelled ring flashed like a cat's eye in the dark.

"My Lord."

Lucius and Severus spoke in unison, and sat on hard, low chairs only when it was indicated that they were allowed to do so. Lord Voldemort sat across the table from them. Swathed in a heavy black cloak, its hood raised, his form was almost indiscernible. Lucius didn't know how much longer he could bear to sit in silence. The coach was hot, dark, and filled with a sickly, heavy scent that blurred the mind.

"You know why you are here?"

"No, my Lord," Snape said quickly.

"Because you wished it, my Lord," Lucius amended softly.

"Ah, Lucius, never without an answer, never lost for words." There was a flash of red beneath the hood. _"That silver tongue of yours may land you in trouble yet. Do not think I will suffer sycophants." _Lucius strove not to flinch as the voice of his master echoed inside his head. He fought to stay calm, to keep his mind blank, _not_ to fight back. "You are correct though." Lucius almost slumped in his seat as Voldemort left his mind and continued speaking aloud. "I wished it, and here you are, ready to hear your next orders. After the _disappointment_ of London I have selected the two of you most particularly." The words were snarled so viciously; it hardly seemed possible that a human mouth had formed them.

"We are honoured, my Lord," Snape bowed so low his head almost brushed the tabletop. Lucius' lip curled. If Snape didn't get reprimanded for that after he had been-

_"We make allowances for youth, Lucius."_

-Lucius sucked in his breath and mentally rebuked himself. He _had_ to stay focused!

"I am confident that Rodolphus will find a way to make amends. Once I have had a few _words_ with him." Lucius could feel Snape's eyes shift. He too was wondering if those 'words' would include spells, curses, hexes… "He has such exceptional potential. If only he could keep his head," Voldemort reflected clinically, "but that will come in time."

Lucius privately doubted that this was true. He had known Lestrange for far too long to believe that he would ever change, but he didn't dare to voice this opinion. In fact he wisely stamped out the thought as soon as he was aware of it forming.

"It is a shame about Miss Varvara though, such a shame," the Dark Lord purred. Lucius stopped breathing. "I had wanted to ask her myself, test her myself - such a pity I won't be able to. She was not wholly lacking in potential either."

"My Lord?" Lucius choked. Voldemort did not permit questions, Lucius knew this, but he still couldn't stop the words falling from his lips. A sneering, smirking laugh emanated from beneath the hood.

"I'm digressing aren't I? You must eager to hear why you are here. That _is_ what's concerning you, isn't it, Mr Malfoy?"

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius breathed quickly.

_"You lie." _Lucius could feel the sweat beading on his brow, as pain seared through his skull, joining the voice inside his head. "Good," the Dark Lord purred the contradiction aloud. "And so you should be; this is a rather special assignment, requiring intelligence and cunning, and the utmost loyalty to _me_. There is a jewel, a priceless gem, with exceptionally qualities. It is sitting right under our noses, gentlemen. I want it. And one of you two is going to acquire it for me."

Despite everything, Lucius felt his curiosity stir. An assignment would at least keep his mind occupied… keep his mind from dwelling on _her_.

"As always, success will be rewarded, failure punished," the Dark Lord whispered, relishing the hiss of the last word, lengthening it grotesquely.

"Where is it kept, this jewel? Gringotts?" Lucius asked, _almost_ satisfied with the _almost_ even tone of his voice. His sharp mind was already racing; Gringotts would be hard to infiltrate, maybe impossible? He would need to get the key first - he would need to know who had the key. Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but the Dark Lord already knew his question.

"It is stored in a vault, under an account that was created in the name of a girl called Elaine Poldark."

"Poldark?" Lucius repeated slowly. He was sure he knew the name. Weren't the Poldarks fairly well to do? Friends of his late mother perhaps? And hadn't he been to school with a couple of their boys? One in Slytherin, but not his year, the other in Ravenclaw?

"Not the Cornish Poldarks?" Snape asked hesitantly.

"Why yes Severus, the Cornish Poldarks." Voldemort sounded as though he was smirking beneath his hood. "A very esteemed Pureblood family. Quite promising in fact."

Lucius could feel the icy trickle of foreboding running down his neck. "You said there was a girl call Elaine-"

"I said she was a girl when her account was created."

"You mean Elaine Varvara don't you?" Snape murmured.

"You mean Narcissa's mother?" Lucius breathed at exactly the same moment.

"I mean the le Fay jewel gentleman, who owns it is irrelevant to me."

**..ooOOoo..**

It wasn't irrelevant. It was a test. And Lucius didn't want to contemplate the consequences of failure. Four days after the meeting ended the assignment was still weighing heavily on his mind. He had barely eaten. He couldn't sleep. He was still trying to accustom himself with what he was meant to do. Taking this jewel from Elaine wasn't the same as taking it from Narcissa, was it? Besides, it wasn't as if he owed Narcissa anything! Lucius argued savagely. She had left him, and ignored him. Did she honestly think she would escape unscathed? Perhaps this would make a fitting punishment? Perhaps this would prove he could forget?

On the morning of the fifth day after his meeting with the Dark Lord, the morning one week after his night with Narcissa, Lucius was standing with Rodolphus Lestrange in Gringrotts, drumming his fingers irritably on a counter in the bank.

Lestrange raised an exasperated eyebrow at his former friend. They were only in the same room under duress. The Dark Lord's trust was not easily regained. Lucius had been sent along to supervise the other Death Eater even though the business at hand was extremely simple. A cash withdrawal, albeit rather large, to fund one of Lord Voldemort's many projects. Lucius was using the outing as an opportunity to assess the bank. If he couldn't obtain the key to Mrs Varvara's vault he would have to find another way to reach the jewel. Failing to acquire the gem was not an option.

"What in Lucifer's name is the matter, Malfoy?" Rodolphus demanded when he could endure the incessant tapping no longer.

"Nothing," came the gruff, growling reply.

Rodolphus had known Lucius for far too long not to know how unwise it was to press his blond companion when Malfoy's humour was this black, but he was reluctant to let the matter pass. He had problems of his own - two recently broken kneecaps and an irate fiancée to name but a few - but he wasn't making everyone else's life a living hell because of them! He hadn't heard Lucius utter a civil word for a whole week.

"Look, if you're this upset about Isabelle-"

"I am not upset about Isabelle!" Lucius snarled the interruption. Lestrange held up his hands disarmingly, winced and wobbled precariously on his crutches, as a goblin scurried over to finish dealing with them.

Lucius took a deep breath, listening with only one ear as Rodolphus dealt with the matter. Isabelle had never held this kind of power over him. He had been able to compartmentalise her, whereas Narcissa… Narcissa would touch every area of his life if he let her. There would be no neat lines, no tidy boxes. He knew instinctively that his life would become completely intertwined with hers… and that was dangerous.

In the past Lucius had always shied away from 'real' relationships and genuine attachments. He was solitary. He was content. He had never meant to let anyone in. He had witnessed the handicaps that came hand in hand with sharing a genuine bond with one's partner. His parents had been in love, a strange, perverse, tainted love, but love of a sort… and it had ruined them. Lucius was not even willing to contemplate such a weakness. He knew that he would never let himself fall in love, but even caring slightly for someone was proving to be a risk.

Lucius sighed heavily, oblivious to Lestrange's irritated glare. He had tried to deny it. He had only ever meant for things to last one night… but it was no good. His body yearned for Narcissa, craved her like a drug, and while he could excuse his lust as a passing phase Lucius could not deny that he would settle for just seeing her, speaking to her, spending a few precious moments in her company. Simply knowing for certain that she was safe…

He had written to her. After his meeting with Lord Voldemort. Lucius had penned a simple, elegant, surprising honest letter, enquiring why she had run… and how he might follow. He hadn't received a reply. Wherever she had run – because she wasn't at Cotehele if Snape could be believed – the owl would have found her. It had been nearly a week and he _still_ hadn't received a reply! Lucius had almost reached the point of demeaning himself utterly and storming her house. He released his breath in an aggravated hiss and attempted to lock Miss Varvara away in the very back most recesses of his mind… but then he heard her name.

"-Narcissa Varvara? Are you sure?"

Lucius froze. Two elderly looking witches were pouring over their pension books to the side of the front desk, and talking rather loudly. Lucius physically gripped the side of the counter to stop himself from marching straight over to them and demanding that they tell him anything that they might know about Narcissa. He contented himself for the time being with straining to make out their words.

"Quite sure. I don't think she's regained consciousness _once_."

Lucius felt his heart slow to a near fatal stop.

"But- but _how_?" stammered the other witch, looking quite gleefully macabre.

"Well, I spoke Mrs Bulstrode, who heard it from Mrs Parkinson, who spoke to Elaine Varvara herself, and _she_ said that the girl fell down the stairs. However," she paused dramatically, leaving both Lucius and the elderly witch on tender hooks, "my daughter-in-law works at St Mungo's," her voice dropped so low Lucius could hardly hear what was being said, "and she told me that Miss Varvara's injuries were more conducive with being _hurled_ down a few of flights of stairs than simply tripping and falling."

"He couldn't have," Lucius breathed. "He _wouldn't_…"

Rodolphus turned to stare at Malfoy, clearly looking as though he feared for his comrade's sanity, but Lucius was already striding towards the two witches, past the point of caring how ridiculous he was about to look.

"Excuse me, ladies," he drawled, as calmly as he could manage, but Lucius could hear the slip in his usually perfect enunciation. The two women blinked up at him, rather flustered. "Forgive me, I could not help overhearing you mention Miss Narcissa Varvara. She is-" Lucius paused momentarily, "a very dear friend of mine. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me how she is?"

The witch with the daughter-in-law at St Mungo's looked highly suspicious. "If she was such a dear friend I would have thought you'd have known. She's in hospital. Coma. Her chances of recovery aren't looking too bright," she finished cheerfully.

Lucius was practically running across the foyer of Gringotts bank before the last word had finished falling from the witch's lips. He heard, and ignored, Rodolphus's shout to stop, and was out in the fresh air, wand drawn, preparing to apparate in a matter of seconds.

He hadn't made one conscious decision since hearing Narcissa's name. He simply knew he _had_ to reach her - it was not simply desirable, it was not even optional, it was an absolute necessity.

**OOoo..ooOO**

Lucius leant back in his chair and stared blindly around his office. He'd wasted a whole week. One hundred and sixty-eight hours had passed, and he hadn't known that Narcissa was lying in St Mungos fighting for her life, and all because he had been too proud, too self-righteous to go after her… She could have died. He could have lost her. Even now, years later, the thought still made his blood run cold.

Now the same thing had happened with Draco. His son might have been snatched away. Lucius held no delusions. He knew he was no model father - his actions from the previous year went to prove that, but he had always, _always_ sought to protect Draco. It was Narcissa who had insisted on having him schooled at Hogwarts, who had flatly refused to have their son attend a school run by Igor Karkaroff, but he had capitulated, rather too willingly probably.

He had known the hidden argument behind Narcissa's words, though she had never stated it openly. _Don't send our baby so far away._ Lucius had known, because he had shared the same misgivings, however hard he had tried to quash them. No matter how firmly he had tried to tell himself that it would be best to keep Draco out of Hogwarts and away from Albus Dumbledore, he had never been able to forget that the further Draco was from Dumbledore the further he was from home.

Lucius had given in to Narcissa's demands, on the grounds that it _would_ be shame to ruin the family Slytherin tradition. He had never dared ask if she was fooled.

There was a soft rap on his door, followed by a clear: "Mr Malfoy?"

"Come in, Mrs Lovell," Lucius sighed.

His secretary bustled into the room, wearing brown tweed, smelling of peppermint, and carrying a stack of papers that needed to be signed. She had always reminded Lucius of some sort of terrier: small and stocky and _never_ still, forever flapping about _something_, but she was good at her job and usually knew when to stay out of his way.

"The Japanese delegate called by international floo while Mrs Malfoy was here, sir," Mrs Lovell informed him, rearranging a chair so that it stood at right angles to the desk on her way across the office. "He wanted to reschedule his meeting with you."

"And you told him?"

"That you don't reschedule meetings, Mr Malfoy," she said instantly, but Lucius then watched her waver a fraction. "Although, I did wonder, if you might make an exception in this case, sir?" she added timidly, handing him a few of the forms to sign.

"And why-" began Lucius coldly, trying to drag his mind back to work as he endorsed each document with his signature "-would I want to do that?" he finished.

"I believe Mr Awata's wife _is_ due to give birth any day now, sir," Mrs Lovell pointed out, as bravely as she dared. She harboured a secret suspicion that her employer was not _quite_ the man he was painted, although, even after tens years of working for him, she had scant evidence to support her theory. "I know when my daughters-"

"I shan't be keeping him long," Lucius smiled icily, doing absolutely nothing to discredit his callous reputation. "Send Mrs Awata a bouquet if you must," he smirked, "but tell Mr Awata I will being expecting him at ten precisely."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy." Mrs Lovell nodded before she turned to go, and then stopped suddenly. Lucius raised a disparaging eyebrow as she began sifting through the papers for something. "I almost forgot," she bustled, "a letter just arrived by owl, sir, only I think it's been misdirected. I didn't want to bother you with it but-" She found the letter in question, squinted at the address, and then handed it over to Lucius when he extended his hand to take it from her and look himself.

He turned it upside down, and then back around again. The inscription _might_ have said Malfoy. Lucius frowned irritably, but it might very well have said Morag, Mallory or Manderley for its legibility. He flipped it over to see if the wax seal gave a better clue. Nash and Co Solicitors. His eyes narrowed. He wondered… he slid his finger between the fold and broke the seal.

_

* * *

_

_Nash & Co Solicitors_

_Beaumont House_

_Plymouth_

_1st September 1993_

_Dear Mrs Malfoy,_

_In response to your query…_

* * *

Lucius tore his eyes away from his wife's letter. Of course… he had almost forgotten that Elaine's will had yet to be read. The jewel was still waiting to be claimed.

The Dark Lord's words came back to tempt Lucius. From what he had been told, Lucius knew that the jewel was used first in the seduction of Igraine, and then later taken by Morgan from the hilt of Excalibur. In essence it was rumoured to share the qualities of the polyjuice potion – except in one important regard; while the potion would allow the drink to assume the physical form of another, the jewel would allow the wearer to _become_ another, every memory would be unlocked, every secret revealed. It would be, to all extents and purposes, _impossible_ to detect the impostor.

A truly frightening concept - and one that was finally about to fall into the hands of the Malfoy family.

**To be continued…**

**Thanks**

Sadly, given the pressure that I've been under to complete this chapter, I haven't been able to comply the individual list of thank yous that I normally like to compile. (I'll go back to including one at the end of each chapter from the next chapter onwards if you would all like that though?) All the same, I still wanted to say an absolutely huge thank you to everyone who took the time to critique the story and offer comments and suggestions! :cD It never ceases to amaze me how astonishingly well received TL has been, it's gone down so much better than I ever could have dreamed. Also, thank you for your patience and understanding that my real life schedule makes it nearly impossible to publish chapters less than a month or two apart. When I began the story, I was on my gap year and had much more time to dedicate to writing. Currently my university and social obligations prevent faster updates without compromising the quality of the story. Nevertheless, I remain committed to finishing – it may just take a while. You have no idea how very much your support mean to me! Thanks again! Cat


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